Thou mayest, Thou shalt
by ellesmer.joe3
Summary: Jasmine King puts her name into the Goblet of Fire - on a whim, more than anything. She never expected to be chosen as Hogwarts' Champion. With Severus Snape as her mentor, she soon finds that protecting the name of Slytherin House is the least of her priorities. There is a bigger picture, and it may just come at the price of her life. (SSOC if you squint, Chap 2 now up!)
1. Thou mayest, Thou shalt

_A/N: yknow this was meant to be a short, innocent little oneshot that i wrote for just me and then oh look it's 56 pages now welp what can u do, might as well put it up. i put too much effort into this. too much._

 _i can't bring myself to regret it because there was TOO MUCH TIME SPENT. TOO MUCH EFFORT._

 _FORGIVE ANY GRAMMAR OR SPELLING MISTAKES. I WROTE THIS FOR SEVEN DAYS STRAIGHT ALL DURING THE DEAD OF NIGHT._

 _god what have i done_

 _UPDATE: yeahp i found an error. specifically, in the Second Task. it was practically GLARING me in the face. i can't believe i didn't notice it before. so yes, so sorry for that._

 _UPDATE #2: yep another error found hahaha don't mind me but fml_

* * *

 **Thou mayest, Thou shalt**

Jasmine had no love for her father. Everyone knew it. Going back to London every end of the school year to live with him was a mere formality. As soon as she graduated, she would get a place of her own. That man's house had stopped being her home ever since his wife, her mother, was brutally murdered. He'd stopped being her father at the same time.

He was out terrorizing the masses at the Quidditch World Cup while she'd eagerly been packing her bags for her last year in Hogwarts. Sitting in the train on her way to the castle, she could see that many students were reading their copies of the Daily Prophet. She could also see the Dark Mark floating at the front page of the newspaper, taunting her. No one had asked her yet, but it was an unspoken truth amongst Slytherins that their fathers and mothers had undoubtedly known all about the attack. As their children, they were expected to keep quiet, but Jasmine, if ever someone were to ask, would do no such thing.

Daphne and Astoria Greengrass came to sit on opposite sides of Jasmine. They had obviously come to chat. Jasmine was loath to entertain them, as she was in a rather foul mood, but neither of them seemed to care whether she joined the conversation or not. Perhaps they just had nowhere else to sit. Or perhaps Draco wasn't in a particularly entertaining mood either.

There was a bit of a ruckus as soon as they arrived at the castle. Jasmine didn't have to crane her neck. A couple of carriages were flying into the vicinity of Hogwarts, pulled by pure-white winged horses. They landed in the courtyard but before any of their doors opened, Jasmine was ushered away along with the other students. She scowled. Her father had mentioned that something special would be arriving at Hogwarts this year, but at the time she couldn't have cared less. As long as it didn't keep her from finishing her NEWTs, then she was all for it.

The anticipation was palpable in the Great Hall. It buzzed in the air all throughout the Sorting Ceremony. Jasmine eyed each of the first years that went up to sit on The Stool, unable to keep a smirk off her face. None of them knew what they were getting into.

Her eyes then flitted to the teachers' table at the very front of the hall. There were two empty seats, one of them being Dumbledore's. Jasmine wondered where their Headmaster had gone off to without even finishing his pie. She didn't have to wonder who owned the second empty seat, though. It was obviously for their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher – unless Snape had finally gotten what he wanted, because if so, then it was for their new Potions teacher.

But speak of the devil and the devil shall hear. Just as Dumbledore came through the teachers' entrance and went to his seat, Jasmine had the sudden sense of being watched. Her eyes flickered to the side and she met the steely gaze of Professor Snape.

Other students would have been fazed, certainly most of the new first years, if not all of them. However, Jasmine was one of the very few who were not afraid of the infamous Dungeon Bat. Perhaps because she was also one of the very few who actually respected him as well as his subject. They had formed a kind of understanding in her seven years at Hogwarts, yet she wouldn't go so far as to use the word "friendship". He was still as vile to her as he was with every other student who couldn't answer him correctly.

Dumbledore moved to stand behind the podium. Jasmine, from her seat at the far end of the Slytherin table, could hear the muffled sounds of footsteps from outside the doors of the Great Hall. Her interest was piqued.

"Now that we're all settled in and Sorted," Dumbledore began, "I'd like to make an announcement. This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well. You see, Hogwarts has been chosen—"

He was interrupted by Filch, who came running in from outside and down the aisle. He muttered something into Dumbledore's ear. Some amused murmurs arose from the students, but they were clearly excited to hear an explanation from their Headmaster. Jasmine surely was. When Dumbledore finally waved the caretaker away, she leaned forward on the table.

"So, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event," continued Dumbledore. "The Triwizard Tournament."

"What the bloody hell is that?" Flint muttered. Jasmine rolled her eyes at him. She could remember some of her father's words, then, but not enough to know why he was so interested in the event.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Now for those of you who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school, a single student is selected to compete. Let me be clear: if chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say these contests are not for the fainthearted. But more of that later! For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their Headmistress, Madame Maxine!"

The doors to the Great Hall swung open and a large group of girls stepped in. Chins raised, bosoms out, hips swaying as they walked. Jasmine raised an eyebrow when they began swooning at the boys of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, and said eyebrow only went higher when butterflies escaped from their uniforms the same moment their Headmistress stepped into the hall. Probably the largest woman Jasmine had ever seen. Dumbledore kissed her hand and then motioned for silence.

"And now our friends from the North! Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their high master, Igor Karkaroff!"

The next group was a bit more interesting, mostly because Jasmine recognized that name. Her father had mentioned it more times than she could count. Igor Karkaroff was a Death Eater, and she'd give her right hand to bet that his delegates were little followers in the making. Jasmine observed their entrance with narrowed eyes.

Two long tables were summoned and placed at the end of the room for the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. When they were all seated, Dumbledore announced for the feast to commence.

It took no time at all for the Great Hall to be filled with the excited chatter of students. Jasmine, for one, was curious as well. She tried her best to keep up with the conversation running up and down the Slytherin table, but her mind was elsewhere. Soon, it became obvious to her that she would never be able to recall what it was her father had said to her, probably because her mind had never processed his words in the first place.

She ate very little that night.

.

.

"D'you think it'd work if I asked Adamson to put in my name for me?"

Jasmine stared incredulously at Pansy. "I'm positive that Professor Dumbledore already knows about that particular hole in the system. He's sure to have placed a spell for it apart from the Age Line. Why would you want to compete anyway?"

"Eternal glory," Montague exclaimed. "Who wouldn't want a piece of that? I reckon my dad would want me to join, to make up for my abysmal grades, you know?"

"You're gonna put your name in?"

"Yeah." He gave Jasmine a bit of a shove. "Come on. You want to do it too."

"Actually I don't. I'd rather have my head on properly during NEWTs than have it screwed on backwards by you lot in an effort to resurrect me."

Flint stepped in, now, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and forcing her to stare at the Goblet. "Come on, Jazzy," he urged. "Just do it for a bit of fun! The chances of you getting picked are a million to one anyway."

"I don't want to risk it—"

"Come on! Spice up your life, will you?"

"I said _no_."

Flint's stare turned hard, like how it was on the Quidditch Pitch during a match against Gryffindor. "You chicken?" he said, practically baring his teeth. "What would your father say, chicken?"

He then proceeded to make the appropriate noise of a chicken. The people who had caught onto their conversation began laughing. Students were beginning to stream into the hall by then; lunch would be served soon.

Jasmine would never know what it was that had prompted her to do what she did – be it the continuous taunts of her House mates, which were growing louder and wilder, the shameful blush on her face that everyone could see, or the abrupt appearance of a certain raven-haired professor. The next thing she knew, she had torn out a page from Astoria's notebook, scribbled her name, stepped past the Age Line, and thrown the slip of paper into the burning Goblet.

Flint, Montague, Pansy, Astoria, and everyone else were staring at her. Snape was staring at her. Hastily, she saved face.

"What?" she said, forcing a smirk onto her face. "A million to one, right?"

.

.

In the evening of the Thursday that followed, after everyone had eaten their fill of supper, Dumbledore took his place by the Goblet and demanded for silence. All the other teachers were standing by, observing the happenings from the high table. Try as she might, Jasmine couldn't help but to shift a bit when Snape's gaze flitted over her. _A million to one,_ she told herself. It didn't help.

"Now for the moment you've all been waiting for: the Champion Selection!" Dumbledore declared, and with a superfluous wave of his wand, the torches in the Great Hall dimmed to little more than specks of flame. The blue fire of the Goblet offered sufficient enough lighting.

Dumbledore placed his hand on the Goblet, slowly, almost reverently. The entire hall waited with bated breath. Within moments, the students' gasps of awe were heard as the Goblet's flames turned red. It spat out a slip of paper, which Dumbledore caught.

"The Durmstrang champion is... Viktor Krum!"

The announcement was met with raucous cheering from the males of Durmstrang. They beat his chest and clapped him on the back. Jasmine didn't miss the smug look on his face. Something about him just didn't sit right with her.

As soon as he was ushered off to a backroom by Karkaroff, the flames of the Goblet burned red again and a second piece of paper erupted from the mouth.

"The champion for Beauxbatons... is Fleur Delacour."

Jasmine couldn't help it; she scoffed at the girlish cheers and polite claps that came from the French. Fleur Delacour was a little wisp of a thing, much too delicate to be competing in the Tournament, in Jasmine's opinion. There was a certain determination to her, but even that might not help her survive.

She was ushered away and soon a third slip of paper was in the hands of the Headmaster. Jasmine's breath caught in her throat. There were lines on that paper. She could have sworn that Astoria's notebooks had lines too...

"The Hogwarts champion," Dumbledore declared. "Jasmine King!"

Her heart dropped into her stomach. She was aware of the students from Slytherin rising to their feet, but nothing more. She couldn't tell whether they were loud or not. Her ears were ringing.

Someone was shaking her shoulder. It was Pansy Parkinson; her lips were moving, forming words that suspiciously looked like "shake his hand." In a daze, Jasmine got to her feet and approached the Headmaster, stumbling a bit. He looked at her sternly and she got the feeling that he had placed his bets on someone else. _She_ certainly had.

He began pushing her towards the backroom where everyone else was. She was sure he wasn't following her but then she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned her head and was finally startled out of her trance.

"Congratulations, Miss King," Snape drawled, pulling his hand away. "You have the honor of representing our house in a fight to the death."

She had barely gotten a hold of her senses when they entered a little circular room filled with many knick knacks, most of which she didn't recognize. Suddenly Viktor was towering over her, his eyes intense and dark. He held his hand out. Jasmine quickly shook it, if only to get him out of her immediate vicinity.

Next came Fleur; she all but skipped towards her, smiling brightly, and instead of a handshake she pulled Jasmine into a hug. "I am so 'appy zat you were chosen!" she exclaimed. "I zot I was to be the only girl!"

"Thank Merlin for small miracles," Jasmine muttered as soon as the girl flitted away.

Feeling light-headed, Jasmine went to sit on the steps at the far side of the room, away from everyone else. She hadn't been expecting Snape to follow her, but he did. He remained standing as she pushed her head in-between her knees.

"I'm in way over my head," she muttered to herself.

She heard the sneer in Snape's voice when he said, "Indeed."

Before she could formulate a proper response, the doors to the room creaked open. She'd been expecting Dumbledore to follow after finishing up with the students, so she started a bit when Harry Potter entered the room instead. In his hand was a slip of paper.

"What..." She trailed off, glancing up at her Head of House for answers, but he seemed just as shocked as she and the other two champions were.

She caught Harry's gaze for a split second before the doors flew open again and in stormed Professor Dumbledore, trailed by McGonagall, Karkaroff, Barty Crouch, Mad-Eye Moody, and a very angry Madame Maxine. They interrogated Harry, asked him if he'd asked an older student to put his name in. Jasmine, eager to quench her curiosity, listened in.

It was obvious that the Potter boy knew nothing of what was going on. And though she had little love for him, Jasmine couldn't help but to pity him. In all his years in Hogwarts, he had always been in danger. This year wasn't going to be any different. If anything, this year was probably going to be the worst.

As Barty Crouch declared that there was no choice to be made – Harry was bound to compete – Jasmine's thoughts went racing back to her father. He had been so excited for the Tournament. Had he known that Potter was going to be chosen, whether or not he was of age? Did he have anything to do with the conspiracy that had just taken place?

More likely than not, he at least had to have known about it. Coupled with what had happened in the Quidditch World Cup... Jasmine could tell that there was more to the Tournament than just eternal glory. And as always, Potter was right smack in the thick of it.

.

.

Jasmine decided very early on in the photo shoot that she didn't like Rita Skeeter. In fact, she decided it as soon as she caught sight of the witch's pretentious vomit-green get-up. She became even more certain of her decision when she heard her voice, saw how much makeup she had on, and noticed the way she kept licking her teeth.

She was absolutely _disgusted_ by Rita Skeeter, though never more so when she had been locked in a room with her.

The journalist smelled like the inside of the greenhouse during a rainy day. Her breath smelled like eggs. Jasmine was proud to admit that she managed to answer all of her nosy, unnecessary, and completely unrelated questions with answers that were never more than five syllables.

Skeeter looked quite put out when their session ended. Jasmine, having been the last one to be interviewed, was met with the expectant stares of her fellow champions. Their experiences had obviously been just as bad as hers.

She just shrugged. "I've had worse."

She should have expected the blond twat to put lies in her article. Jasmine could have taken lies, the obvious jabs at her pride and personal life, but she was more than murderous when she found out that Skeeter had written about her family's past. Death Eaters, the lot of them, but that was why Jasmine wanted so badly to move out of her father's house. She wanted nothing with the Dark Lord.

At supper, she didn't know what was worse: her family history lying spread-eagled on the Daily Prophet, or the fact that when she had told her friends her side of the story, they all but sneered in her face.

"Watch it, King," Montague said. "Being a champion doesn't make you any better than us. You don't turn on blood."

They didn't let her live it down for days. It was worst during Potions. She could always feel Snape's eyes boring down on her, judging her, but whenever she mustered the courage to take a peek, he was never looking.

She didn't fool herself, though. There was no doubt that he'd read the article, but what was so special about it? More than eighty percent of the students in Slytherin had former Death Eaters for parents; the only difference lied in those who had never been exposed.

Most Slytherins in her situation would be proud of their parents, would even go so far as to brag, but Jasmine had lost her respect for her father many years ago. She brushed off the protests of her House mates and accepted the accusations from other Houses for what they were: the truth she'd have to live with.

She distracted herself with other things: homework, studying for her NEWTs, and panicking about what the First Task was going to be. It was nearing the 24th of November and she still had no clue, hadn't made any kind of preparation. Whenever she passed by one of Potter's friends, she felt like they were laughing behind her back. Harry already knew what the First Task was; she had no qualms about that. But was she really so repulsive that he wouldn't volunteer at least _some_ information to her? As far as she could recall, she'd never been intentionally cruel to him in the past. That job was for Malfoy.

Neither Krum nor Fleur told her anything either.

On the Friday before the First Task, Jasmine had come to accept that she would just have to walk to her doom with her head held high, like a proper Pureblood, when she ran into the Boy Wonder himself.

He looked distressed, which was only to be expected. Some artful Slytherin – Jasmine had no idea who – had made badges in her honor, saying that she "rules" and that "Potter sucks". She didn't particularly enjoy them, but the rest of her House did.

She saw Draco approaching with that familiar sneer on his face, the one that told her he was looking for trouble, and she put on her best impression of Snape.

"Take your business elsewhere, Malfoy," she snapped. "Potter and I are talking."

" _Potter_?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously and he took the hint. Harry, meanwhile, looked just as confused as he'd been the night of the Champion Selection. He looked at her questioningly.

"I never asked for those badges, you know," Jasmine said, a bit awkward under his gaze. "And I don't believe what they're saying either. You couldn't have cheated even if you tried."

That came out wrong. He knew it too. "Thanks?"

Sighing, she tried again. "What I'm trying to say is... I don't think you're all that bad. And with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang going against us, we from Hogwarts have got to stick together, right?"

He was quiet for a long while, eyes suspicious and searching for the lie on her face. She wished very much that none had mistakenly found their way there.

Finally, he looked away. "Dragons."

"What?"

"Dragons. That's the first task. They've got one for each of us."

Jasmine blinked. This time, it was her turn to search for a lie, even though she knew that he had no reason to put her off so badly. " _Dragons_?" she exclaimed. "They're out of their bloody minds! How do they expect us to fend off _dragons_?"

"We're allowed wands, aren't we? Shouldn't that be enough?"

"It depends on how big they are, Harry." From the way his eyes bulged, she assumed that the dragons were fully-grown. "Bloody hell."

"Do you have any ideas yet? On how you're going to beat it?"

"Well I'll definitely be going to do some research, now that you've mentioned it... Thanks, by the way. I'm pretty sure you just saved my head."

Impulsively, she held her hand out. She was thankful that he took it and gave it a good, firm shake. If he hadn't, it would have been another thing that she wouldn't be able to live down.

That night, after dinner, she received yet another surprise – specifically in the form of Professor Snape coming down from the high table and walking down the aisle. He rarely ever did that during mealtimes, always preferring to make a quick exit through the teachers' backdoor. Jasmine's surprise only increased when he stopped behind her and said in a low drawl, "Come to my office after dinner, Miss King. We have much to discuss."

"Y-Yes, sir."

Without another word, he walked away. Those in Slytherin table sent odd glances her way and she took on a haughty air. "Triwizard business," she said, shrugging. "You know, the usual." This, of course, was an absolute lie, because Snape had never talked to her about the Tournament before except during the night of the Champion Selection.

She exited the Great Hall alongside her fellow Slytherins, ushered by their prefect, but she didn't follow them into the common room. Instead, she detoured quickly to the Head of House's office. After a moment's hesitation, she finally place three firm knocks on the door.

"Come in."

Snape was sitting behind his desk, eyes focused on reading a roll of parchment. Fourth year essays, probably. When he said nothing, Jasmine approached the desk and sat herself down on the chair opposite him. In her experience, it was best to wait for him to initiate the conversation. It took a few minutes before he finally dropped his quill and raised his head, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"Miss King," he intoned. "May I safely assume that you already know of the First Task and the... _dangers_ it entails?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what is this task?"

She gulped; just thinking about it made her panic a bit inside. "We have to face dragons, sir."

"And what, pray tell, do you plan on doing with your dragon?"

There was no use lying, was there? The best way to go was to be frank; he would berate her, but she liked to think that he liked her quite a lot – at least enough not to let her die. He could provide some quality advice.

"Honestly, sir, I was all for just going for it."

"Just... going... for it." He remained as expressionless as ever but Jasmine knew that voice. It was the one he used whenever someone gave the wrong answer during Potions. "Miss King, I'm not sure you are aware of just how heavy of a position you are in. You are carrying the honor of our school as well as your _House_. People have died horrible deaths in this Tournament, so I sincerely wish that you can get it into that insufferable brain of yours that you will not advance to the Second Task by _just going for it_."

He emphasized each word with a tap of his fingers on the table. The anger and the suggestion of his words was enough to make her flinch. She did _not_ want to die. But despite knowing that he was right, she hadn't been sorted into Slytherin for nothing. Her stubbornness reared its ugly head.

"Well how am I supposed to know how to kill a dragon... sir?" she added as an afterthought. "It's not like I was born from a family of dragon slayers, was I? At least Potter's got his reputation going for him, he defeated Voldemort and all—"

"Do not speak his name," Snape hissed.

" _You-Know-Who_ then." She scowled. Her sudden frustration disappeared as quickly as it had come, and she said her next words under her breath. "It doesn't matter. I still have no idea what I'm going to do."

She could feel him staring at her and shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him begin grading another fourth year essay. She steadied her breathing, calmed herself down.

"You'll have to play to your strengths in this Tournament, Miss King," he drawled. "This First Task will no doubt test your skill and endurance, but just precisely what skill remains to be seen."

He then went quiet. Jasmine assumed that he was just lost in thought, but the longer she waited, the more she came to realize that the look on his face was not one of thoughtfulness, but one of expectance.

"Oh, well, that's the thing, professor. I'm not much good at anything, really – Potions, maybe, but I doubt that would help me with getting past a dragon. I'm dreadful at Transfiguration, and McGonagall told me that herself, right at my face." She pursed her lips. "I've a good hand at Defense, I suppose—"

"More than just _good_ , from what I've heard in the seven years that you've been in this school. Granted, you've never had the same teacher for more than a single year, but they've all spoken nothing but praise for you despite your... inattentiveness."

Jasmine couldn't help but to blink. Had he just complimented her? "I don't know how effective Dark spells would be in this situation, sir. I've always just assumed that they would bounce off a dragon's hide, like everything else. Harmless."

"You most certainly aren't wrong, Miss King. Offensive spells do not work the same way against dragons as they do with humans. However, there are a few odd ones which would be rather effective, although none of them are Dark. Regular spells should suffice for your needs, I think."

A crease appeared on her forehead as she frowned at him. That was a tad contradictory, wasn't it? Dark spells were more powerful than regular ones, therefore they would probably be more helpful in maiming a dragon.

Snape, sensing her confusion, scowled and leaned forward, glaring dangerously. " _Think_ , you fool. Even the Ministry wouldn't be so bold as to order you to kill a dragon. No more than a handful have ever succeeded at that, and all of them had skills well above the normal curriculum of a seventh year. If you don't have to kill it then what can you do?"

"Put it to sleep," she suggested.

"Perhaps. But in this situation, I hardly think they would give such an easy task. Another."

After a moment's thought, she said, "Distract it, maybe, but... for what?"

"That, I'm sure, will be explained in full detail before the Task itself. Now..." He handed her a quill and a piece of paper, leaned back in his seat and regarded her coolly. "List down the spells you think may aid you in the Task. There are quite a lot, Miss King, so I suggest you get to it."

.

.

Jasmine was sorely tempted to pull her hair out; her nerves were getting out of control. "There's a reason I wasn't bloody Sorted into Gryffindor," she growled. "I'm not ready for this, Professor."

Snape scoffed. "I'd be surprised if you were."

It was the day of the First Task. All the Champions and their mentors had been placed inside a tent, where they would wait until it was their turn to proceed into ring – or, as Jasmine liked to call it, the slaughterhouse. She could hear the students filing into their seats as Dumbledore began with introductions; he said that the First Task would begin "shortly". Past that, Jasmine could very slightly make out the frustrated roaring of dragons.

She tried to distract herself by glaring at Rita Skeeter, who refused to leave the tent even after Krum had told her off. Jasmine was positive that the foul woman had snapped a picture of her and Snape at one time; she could only presume that she'd been leveled with a fiery glare from the Potions Master, because she didn't try again.

The dragons roared again and the tent rocked slightly. At the same moment, Dumbledore stepped in from outside, trailed by Barty Crouch, a Ministry official holding a pouch, larger than it should have been.

"Good day, champions. Gather round please," said Dumbledore. The four Champions formed a circle around him, Jasmine making sure that Snape was never too far from her. His presence was... comforting, and that said a lot about her state of mind. "Now, you've waited, you've wondered, but at last the moment has arrived. The moment only four of you can fully appreciate..."

He trailed off once he had noticed Hermione Granger standing by Harry. "Miss Granger? What are you doing here?"

The girl, after throwing her friend a reassuring look, quickly excused herself. Jasmine was thankful that the mentors weren't asked to leave.

"Barty! The bag!" Dumbledore snapped, making her flinch.

The Ministry official stepped forward and rearranged them to his liking. He had opened the pouch by then, and Jasmine wasn't imagining it when she saw smoke curling upwards from the mouth. He turned to Fleur first. "Miss Delacour, if you will?"

Fleur hesitantly pushed her hand into the pouch, hissing when she pulled something out by its tail. A dragon. A miniaturized dragon. Shocked, she all but dumped it onto her palm.

"The Welsh Green," Crouch remarked, right before thrusting the pouch towards Viktor. "Mister Krum?"

The Bulgarian was a bit more dignified in pulling out his dragon. Still, Jasmine didn't miss the look of apprehension on his face once he saw it.

"The Chinese Fireball," said Crouch. And then he turned to her.

She didn't wait for him to say her name. Her hand was trembling as she pushed it into the small bag. Her fingertip grazed against something sharp, and instinctively she moved away from it and grabbed the only other thing she could feel.

The dragon she pulled out by the tail was silvery blue color. The bottom row of its teeth jutted out from its maw, and there was a single line of spikes running down its massive tail. When it roared and breathed fire in her direction, she saw that the flames were a brilliant blue.

It would have been beautiful if Jasmine didn't feel like she was staring death in the face.

"The Swedish Short-Snout," said Crouch, smirking slightly and Jasmine knew why. She didn't catch what breed of dragon Harry had been paired with; her mind was running a hundred miles per hour just remembering all she knew about the Swedish Short-Snout.

"I read about this," she muttered to Snape. "It's not too big, not as big as Krum's dragon, but it's deadly fast. That's what I'm worried about."

"Obviously, Miss King, you will just have to be faster."

His cheekiness didn't help at all.

"These represent four very real dragons," Crouch was explaining, "each of which has been given a golden egg to protect. Your objective is simple: collect the egg. This, you must do, for each egg contains a clue without which you cannot hope to proceed to the next task. Any questions?"

Jasmine wished someone had spoken up – even Rita Skeeter, despite her loathing for the woman – anything to have delayed the inevitable. But no one did, and then Dumbledore was walking up to her and telling her that she was to go into the slaughterhouse first.

If possible, she paled even further. However, she was aware of the other Champions staring at her, and she put on a brave face even when she knew that her lips were white as chalk. The cannon sounded and Jasmine wanted nothing more than to strangle Filch for being too early.

Snape had to guide her to the entrance flap. She knew that he felt her trembling. Loose-lipped, she said, "Would it be too much to ask for good luck, sir?"

He didn't turn to look at her but she heard him all the same. "I wish you the best of luck, Miss King," he said. "Try not to die, will you?"

It was the best she was ever going to get.

Jasmine moved away from him and jumped four times in quick succession, bringing her knees to her chest to get some feeling into her limbs. She couldn't afford to get flat-footed, not when the terrain outside was rocky and uneven. Vaguely, as though hearing from underwater, she heard Dumbledore tell her to enter the arena.

She got her wand out and, after taking a deep breath, stepped into the slaughterhouse.

Her ears were ringing. She was not aware of the crowd chanting her name. But what she could hear, very clearly, was Snape's voice echoing instructions in her mind: "Examine the terrain."

It wasn't difficult to find the egg; it was sat right in the middle of the arena. There was no straight shot for it though, as there were deep gorges surrounding it. She would have to crawl, climb and hop to even get near it.

The next thing she saw was a ring hammered into the ground, attached to a chain that led up and up and up... right above her.

Forced into action, Jasmine dashed onto the rocks, moving by the sidelines and making sure not to fall into the gorges just yet. She heard the dragon draw breath. She had just enough time to throw up a Shielding Charm before a torrent of blue fire buffeted her.

The heat was immense. She knew that her shield wouldn't last for much longer. Just then, the dragon closed its maw and she sprinted off in the direction of the egg once more.

She didn't get very far, which was only to be expected.

The dragon landed in front of her and made to breathe fire again. Before it could, Jasmine performed a series of Stinging Hexes on the dragon's face, putting a fair few on the thin membrane of its wings as well. She issued forth a quick Conjunctivitis Curse before jumping into the gorge and rushing behind a large boulder. Just in time.

If possible, the dragon's fire had become hotter. Jasmine could hear the rock sizzling and spitting, melting under the pressure. Sweat was pouring off her skin. She so badly wanted to go through with her plan, but Snape had made it clear that she needed to be as close as she could get to the egg before doing anything rash.

 _One more run,_ she thought urgently.

As soon as the torrent ceased, Jasmine ran forward and cried, " _Ascendio_!" She shot up from the ground and scrambled out of the gorge. The sharp edges of the rock cut into the skin of her palms but that was the least of her worries. She heard the dragon's wings beating, beating, beating. It was above her. She realized this too late.

Its tail came crashing down in front of her, spraying her with broken rocks. She darted to the side – its tail was short, she figured she could get around it. The creature swung its tail and she arched backwards. She would have evaded it completely if she had noticed the lone spike sticking out at the very tip of the appendage.

There was searing pain just above her stomach. She knew there was blood. Panicking, she cast a Stinging Curse at the dragon but it seemed to have gotten used to the effects. It reared back and suddenly she felt something slam into her from behind, hard and unforgiving.

She was sent flying across the arena and towards the spectators' stands. The drop would be bad if she landed immediately on the rocks. Jasmine stretched her arm out and made to grab for the railings, if only to slow her fall, but her momentum was halted sooner than she'd expected. Halted by something flat.

A wall. A spell to keep the spectators out of harm's way. A spell that sent her sliding down to the ground.

"Son of a bitch!" Morals be damned. She was going to die anyway. The egg was farther out than it had been when she'd first stepped into the arena. But there was something...

 _There_. A clear shot. She would have to take a leap of faith, but it was her only hope at ever reaching that damned egg.

The dragon was in the air again. Jasmine scrambled towards the path. Her eyes flickered towards a nook where she could take shelter just as the dragon opened its maw. She leapt to the side – a millisecond too late.

A scream erupted from her throat. She hadn't given her consent but the pain in her thigh was too much, too sudden. The burn was easily the size of the Golden Snitch.

Another hoarse yell came from her, yet again without her consent, but this one was quieter. The crowd was deathly silent, yet she could have sworn she heard someone laughing. Probably a Gryffindor. Her hand was shaking tremendously as she raised her wand. " _Aguamenti_."

The water was impossibly cool as it covered the burn. The relief, however brief it might have been, was enough. She glanced up and Snape was there, watching her from the stands. She could have imagined it but she heard his voice in her head again, urgent and clear.

 _"Now."_

Her time was up.

Scowling in determination, she jumped from her hiding place and immediately pointed her wand at the dragon.

" _Impedimenta_!"

The creature didn't completely stop in its tracks. Jasmine hadn't expected it to. But its movements slowed considerably and it would have to be enough. She pointed her wand at its face. " _Incarcerous_!"

Ropes appeared and wrapped themselves around the dragon's snout, squeezing it closed. It wouldn't last forever, this she knew, so she quickly turned her attention to a boulder in the distance, the one that had nearly melted through.

" _Bombarda_!"

It shattered into fragments. With no small amount of effort, Jasmine held the fragments to her will and swung her wand arm towards the dragon. " _Oppugno_!"

The creature was bombarded by rocks, some fragments bigger than others. By that time the dragon had begun moving again. There wasn't a second to lose.

Jasmine threw a Firecracker Charm at the spot just in front of the dragon and, aiming at the same place, cried, " _Confringo_!"

The charm erupted and smoke curled forth, lots of it, quickly enveloping the dragon and the arena. Jasmine tediously cast a non-verbal Disillusionment Charm on herself. It wouldn't completely fool the dragon, but past the smoke, perhaps she could be given enough time.

She quickly scrambled up the ledge and onto the path she had seen before. The dragon could not see her, but her footsteps were loud in the otherwise silent arena. When she jumped from one rocky platform to another, crumpling to her knees when her burned leg and bleeding chest screamed in protest, the noise was all but deafening.

The dragon roared and began beating its wings furiously. Jasmine wildly limped towards the egg. It was so close. Ten paces... eight... five...

The golden egg all but slipped into her fingers and she clutched it to her chest. She didn't stop running until she had reached the foundations of the spectators' stands. Once there, she whirled around, fully expecting to find the Short-Snout standing in front of her, ready to turn her to ashes.

Instead, she found that the dragon was being restrained by a handful of men. They pulled it to the ground and soon the creature was fast asleep, ready to be carted away again. From behind them, a team of Mediwitches came rushing into the arena, rushing towards Jasmine.

She sagged in relief. Feeling rather lightheaded, she patted the smooth surface of the golden egg and mumbled, "You better have been worth it."

.

.

At first, she thought she couldn't have been more wrong in her life – when she opened it in the Slytherin common room during celebrations, all they heard was an incessant screeching. She thought she had very nearly died for no reason at all.

Even Snape, who had always seemed to know all the answers, couldn't tell her what to do with it. He certainly hadn't wanted her to open it in front of him. All he said was that she "better figure it out soon, unless she wanted a repeat of the First Task."

She understood what he was saying, of course. The Tournament wasn't to be taken lightly. Because of her ill-scheduled planning for the First Task, she had very nearly died. The wound on her chest would have bled out if she'd taken any longer with retrieving the egg. Snape hadn't been too happy about that, but he reassured her that she had done better than Harry.

Despite his urgency, Jasmine figured it wouldn't hurt to delay the process a bit. The next Task was set for late February, still two months away, and she had other things to worry about: mainly her studies, preparing for NEWTs, and a very badly scheduled school dance.

The Yule Ball, McGonagall had called it. Jasmine really couldn't care less about it, even if it was only celebrated every five years during the Triwizard Tournament. She didn't care about the month of December in general. Her mother had died just a few days before Christmas, therefore barring any joy she could have felt for the holiday.

Unfortunately, the Champions were required to attend, _and_ they were required to have partners. Jasmine didn't really want to bring anyone from her House, considering that she didn't want to go in general, but she noticed that Harry was having some trouble attracting a date as well. Most of the student population still thought of him as a cheat, which was stupid, really.

Jasmine fixed both of their problems by asking him to go with her.

It had been an awkward process, one she never wished to relive, but in the end he said yes, and she assured him that she'd do her best to be a good date.

The night of the ball, Jasmine's roommates all but had to force her into her gown

It was off-shoulder, snug in all the right places, and gradient in color, beginning in silver at the top and gradually turning into a darker hue as it went down. The hem of the dress was as black as night, and it glittered just as beautifully.

Daphne Greengrass fixed her hair but Jasmine simply refused to have any make-up put on her face. Her roommates complained and said that "a bit of gold would turn you into a goddess." She didn't want to be a goddess. She just wanted the night over with.

Ultimately, she was forced to let them apply a smattering of golden eye shadow, but that was all she allowed. They were satisfied. She waited for them to finish with their own figures, watched in disgust as they put so much artificial coloring on their faces, they became difficult to recognize. They were the first ones out the door while Jasmine trailed behind, relishing the silence of the dungeons for as long as she could.

They were just passing by the Potions classroom when suddenly a door flew open in front of her, very nearly breaking her nose. Jasmine retreated just in time, eyes narrowed and ready to snap at the figure that emerged, but she never got the chance.

It was Snape who stepped out of the doorway. He was garbed in black, as always, and the only thing different about his attire was that he was in dress robes, not trousers and a frock coat.

"Professor Snape," Jasmine said in greeting.

He nodded in return and she watched as his eyes slid over her figure, bold and unabashed. It occurred to her that perhaps he never meant to hide it. Despite her indifference towards the occasion, she blushed under his gaze and tilted her head to the side so as to hide it.

"Miss King," he greeted coolly. "Who, pray tell, is unfortunate enough to be graced by your constant presence this evening?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. One minute he was admiring her and the next he was insulting her. She didn't hesitate to say that she was going with Potter, knowing that Snape hated him more than anything else in the school. And as she'd expected, his eyes flashed dangerously as soon as the name left her lips.

Suffice it to say, she was surprised when he offered to accompany her to the Great Hall. He even offered her his arm. His presence so close beside her was foreboding and, more often than not, awkward... but at the same time reassuring, just as it had been before the First Task. He never tried engaging in small talk and she didn't want him to. It would have ruined the novelty of the moment. As she had thought before, they were little more than acquaintances and little less than friends, but it was enough for her.

When they reached the Great Hall, of course, he left her side immediately.

Harry was a horrible dance partner, but Jasmine liked to think that her skills were enough to save them from total embarrassment. The same couldn't be said for other couples. A fair few asked her to dance, most of them from Slytherin, but not her Head of House – and though she didn't expect it, a small part of her wanted him to.

She would hate to admit it, but nothing happened that night that was more enjoyable, or as enjoyable, as her short walk with Professor Snape in their ascent from the dungeons.

Although, that performance by the Weird Sisters was definitely something.

.

.

The secret of the golden egg, for all its mystery, was discovered by Jasmine by accident.

There were only a few weeks left before the Second Task, and she had developed the habit of keeping the egg close at all times, except for during classes. One day, she was taking a bath – or rather, she was sitting in the water, unmoving, staring catatonic at the egg which sat at the foot of the tub. She must have fallen asleep, because the next time she opened her eyes, it was dark outside and the egg wasn't there anymore.

She cursed and dove for where the egg should have been. She felt around in the water, panicking slightly when she realized that Crouch hadn't said anything about the temperament of the object. Would the clue survive underwater?

Desperate, she ducked her head into the water. The suds burned her eyes but she could see the egg. And was it just her or was it... glowing?

Curiosity piqued, Jasmine got out of the water just to take a deep breath before ducking right down again. She reached for the egg. There was the risk that the clue would become damaged if the water touched the inside of the egg, but it was a risk she was willing to take. The egg couldn't have been glowing for nothing.

Carefully, she twisted the top of the egg, fully prepared for the all too familiar screeching to assault her ears. But it never came – instead, a woman's voice, singing.

 _Come seek us where our voices sound,_

 _We cannot sing above the ground,_

 _And while you're searching, ponder this;_

 _We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

 _An hour long you'll have to look,_

 _And recover what we took,_

 _But past an hour — the prospect's black,_

 _Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

A feeling of triumph came over her. Grinning from ear to ear, she got out of the tub and dried herself off, taking the egg with her as she left the bathroom. She threw on the first set of clothes she could find and soon she was running down the hall, eyes peeled for Snape, should he be out of his office. It was a weekend, though, so he was most likely getting some work done.

The door to the Potions classroom was just around the bend, she knew, when suddenly a tall figure rounded the corner and collided with her. She would have fallen if it weren't for the man's grip on her arm. Surprised, she quickly opened her mouth – whether to apologize or tell them off, she didn't know at the time – but as soon as she saw who was standing in front of her, her jaw clenched and she pulled her arm away from him.

He, meanwhile, regarded her with cool interest. "Aren't you John's child? John King?"

"What's it to you?" she muttered. She never liked talking about her father, even less so at that moment, when it was a former Death Eater standing before her. Someone she used to see all the time as a child.

"Oh come now. Don't you remember me, Jazzie? I used to spoon feed you when you were little, didn't I?" He smirked. "How is old John anyway?"

Her gaze turned steely, despite the panicked beating of her heart. "What's it to you?" she repeated, sharper this time, to make sure that her intentions weren't lost on him.

"Such traitorous manners do not suit you. John's really let you go, hasn't he? Or did you let yourself go?" He narrowed his eyes. "When the Dark Lord returns, he will purge all those who betrayed him. Would you really want to die by his hand? Why not return to us now? Send word to your father, ask for forgiveness, and reserve yourself a place in his ranks. Perhaps you might even make it into his beloved Inner Circle... Like that Potions Master of yours—"

Jasmine scowled. " _Don't_ insult him."

"He has turned as well. He is worse filth than you – going into hiding as soon as the Dark Lord fell, licking the boots of Albus Dumbledore. It's _vile_ —"

"That's enough." She pulled her wand out and placed the tip under his chin, eyes blazing. She didn't know whether she was just that fast or if she'd just caught him by surprise. "That's my Head of House you're talking about so watch what you say to me."

He sneered. "Loyalty. How very... Gryffindor."

That was the biggest insult anyone could ever make towards a Slytherin. He undoubtedly knew it, judging from the way his eyes flashed. Jasmine was halfway between mortified and enraged, and so she dug her wand tip further against his jugular. She was just getting ready to cast a Stinging Curse when another figure emerged from the corner. This one was familiar.

"Miss King," Snape drawled. "Kindly stop harassing the high master of Durmstrang. I doubt any of his students would be pleased should they ever see you in such a position."

Huffing, Jasmine stepped back and put her wand away, but not before leveling Karkaroff with one final glare.

He scoffed at her. "I'd put her on a tighter leash if I were you, Severus. She was just about to hex me."

"My apologies, Igor," said Snape. "This one does tend to be a bit... entitled, at times. I swear to you it will not happen again."

"See to it that it doesn't. Good day."

Without another word, he whirled around and turned the corner where he and Snape had come from, also where the Potions classroom would be found. Jasmine glared at the back of his head. Her wand hand twitched with the curse that she almost sent flying his way.

"Do restrain yourself, Miss King," Snape said in a low voice, low enough so that Karkaroff wouldn't hear should he be lurking around the corner. "Attacking a teacher from another school is hardly the kind of behavior that Hogwarts would condone."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You didn't hear the things he was saying about you, sir! If you had—"

"I _did_ hear, Miss King, and let me tell you that it would not have been worth it." He regarded her with some urgency. "Igor Karkaroff is not a man you should take lightly."

"He used to drop by my house and speak with my father all the time, sir. I know what he is capable of." The words had left her mouth before she could stop them. Despite herself, she edged away from Snape a bit. Of course, he already knew what her father was – they had served Voldemort together, after all – but she still feared the backlash of her snappy attitude.

Surprisingly, he only raised an eyebrow and said, "Is there anything else you want to say to me, Miss King?"

She sighed in relief. "Yes, actually. It's about the Second Task, sir."

"Would you prefer to speak out in the open or should we retreat to my office?"

"Your office, sir."

Jasmine barely refrained from rolling her eyes at his terse behavior. On a normal day, she wouldn't have minded it much, but the sudden appearance of Karkaroff had ruined her mood. She was silent as she followed Snape into his office, shutting the door behind her.

"Sit."

She did.

"So." He placed his elbows onto the desk and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "You've finally figured out the clue?"

"It didn't really consist much of figuring it out, sir. It was more like... discovering it again." His eyebrow shot up and Jasmine could tell that he was in no mood for anything cryptic. "Every time I opened the egg before, it would make this screeching noise that was impossible to make anything out of. But just a few minutes ago, I accidentally dropped it into the tub while I was taking a bath. It was glowing so I thought to open it up, and when I did there was no noise, just... a woman. Singing. It was a riddle, I think."

He waved his hand in a 'go on' sort of gesture, and she recited the riddle for him. His expression remained as blank as ever, though she noticed the very brief appearance of a crease on his forehead when she recited the final line.

"I trust even you are gifted enough to know that that riddle wasn't much of a riddle at all," he murmured. "The clue behind it is very obvious, though you'll have to figure it out for yourself." He paused. "Here and now, if it's not too much trouble, Miss King."

Jasmine thought long and hard. If the answer was as obvious as he said it was, then she didn't want to embarrass herself by saying the wrong thing. It would be too big of a blow to her pride.

 _Where our voices sound..._ She could comprehend nothing while the egg was open above water; the clue had only revealed itself when she'd dropped the egg into the tub. _We cannot sing above the ground... The prospect's black..._

"Merpeople," she realized with a start. "In the Black Lake." Snape nodded in agreement. "But sir, how will I remain underwater for an hour without drowning?"

He sighed. "I assume you've never heard of the Bubble-Head Charm – an oddity considering I recall Professor Flitwick having to teach it to all sixth years."

"I have heard of it." _I'm not daft,_ she added in her head. "But I've never been much of a swimmer, sir, and we'll only be given an hour for this Task, and the Black Lake isn't exactly small. I was hoping for something that could... speed up the process a bit."

"I hadn't taken you for a slacker, Miss King. Obviously I was mistaken." He sneered, and she wasn't able to keep the annoyance out of her face. "However, I agree that you will need to be a quick swimmer for this Task."

He stood and walked away from her, disappearing inside a backroom of sorts. Jasmine stared after him in confusion. Had he just dismissed her, rather rudely, or was she meant to stay? She heard the sound of a bunch of glass jars being moved around and thought that perhaps Snape was busy, when suddenly he emerged again, eyes on her.

He handed her a small plastic box. Written on the side in his sharp, spiky handwriting was the word "Gillyweed". Jasmine's eyes widened in recognition; indeed, when she opened the box, there sat a small clump of vines that resembled green rat tails. She had studied the plant in her fifth year and all but forgot about it. She had never been too fond of Herbology. Apparently Snape had deduced this as well, for he was staring at her a bit disapprovingly.

"I assume you know what that is, Miss King?"

"Gillyweed, sir," she replied. "Professor Sprout discussed its effects once... but she said that it didn't work in freshwater."

"Well then she was incorrect. Gillyweed works perfectly fine in freshwater. Perhaps what she meant to say was that it does not work _as well_ as it would in saltwater."

She glanced up at him. "Meaning?"

"The effects will last for little less than an hour in freshwater, Miss King." A sneer appeared on his face. "You will have to be faster than the others. No unnecessary heroics this time around."

As she recalled, there hadn't been any unnecessary heroics in the First Task. She didn't tell him that though. "Thank you, Professor Snape" was all she said as she stared down at the Gillyweed, thinking – and he probably thought she wouldn't notice that he was scratching his forearm through the fabric of his frock coat, but she did. Her thoughts rushed back to her interaction with the high master of Durmstrang and all he had said.

"Sir," she began. "You said you overheard my conversation with Igor Karkaroff."

"I did."

"What he said to me... He said, 'When the Dark Lord returns...' _When_ , not _if_."

Snape's eyebrow shot up. "Is there a point to this, Miss King?"

"I was just wondering, sir, if... well, should I be worried? I am the daughter of John King, after all, Karkaroff was right about that. And my father has been trying to pull me into the Dark Arts for years and – and I don't want to. I don't want to be a puppet of the Dark Lord." By then she was staring hard at the wood of his desk, her hatred for her father growing every second. "Is it true, professor? Is He coming back?"

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, so subtle that she thought she must have imagined it. "I dare say that you have no idea what you're talking about, Miss King, _as always_. And even if I did know the answer to your frankly _idiotic_ question, why on earth would I tell you?"

Hadn't she already given him all the reasons? No, it seemed she had wrongly placed her trust on him yet again. She should have known better. Any attempt at bringing up the subject of Voldemort, even by his favorite student, that Malfoy boy, had always been intercepted and shoved away. This time was no different.

"Forgive me, professor. I overstepped my bounds," she said with practiced blankness. "Thank you for the Gillyweed."

He nodded and said nothing more. She took that as a cue to take her leave. But as she sat staring at the golden egg yet again, many minutes later, she couldn't help but to think that perhaps she wasn't the only one who was afraid of the Dark Lord's return.

.

.

A week before the Second Task and Jasmine found herself in pleasant conversation with Harry Potter. His two friends, Granger and that Weasley kid, remained quiet all throughout; they obviously didn't like her, but they stayed close to Harry, probably for the same reason.

"You should sign up for the Auror training program," Harry was saying. "They'd be stupid not to take you on. You did great with the dragon."

Jasmine rolled her eyes. Leave it to Harry Potter to mention a program for Dark Wizard Catchers to the daughter of a Dark Wizard. She quickly changed the subject. "Yes, well, I doubt I'll do any better in the next Task. I've never much liked the water."

His eyebrows furrowed together. "What?"

His friends were in similar states of confusion, staring at her as if she'd grown two horns.

Jasmine frowned. "You have figured out the clue with the egg, haven't you?" Judging from their equally guilty faces, none of them had. "Huh. I thought for sure I was the last one to figure it out, yet again."

"Well, you're wrong," Weasley muttered. Jasmine detected the slightest hint of derision in his voice and pursed her lips, biting back a sharp retort.

"I am," she said through gritted teeth. "There's no harm in clueing you in, I suppose. You did tell me about the dragons, and I'm not entirely cruel."

Weasley and Granger seemed surprised that she would propose something of the sort, but Harry's eyes were wide and hopeful. That was when she noticed that Snape was hovering in the adjacent corridor, glaring at her from across the courtyard.

"The egg," she said. "You should open it underwater. Then it'll be safe to listen."

Without waiting for a reply, she whirled around and made a quick exit. She was in no mood to deal with Snape that day.

.

.

Fred and George Weasley were taking bets on the path to the docks, where students were to take a boat to the center of the Black Lake, where spectators' stands had been built. Jasmine would never admit it, but the twins' words stoked some fear in her heart.

"Two lads, two ladies," they were yelling. "Four go down but do four come up?"

She didn't want to know the answer. It was already a cold enough February afternoon but her nerves had reduced her to a trembling mess. She felt worse than before the First Task. Then, she had planned an arsenal of spells with Snape. She was happy with that. She could trust her spell casting. But this, going underwater and having to navigate the Black Lake for only an hour, probably less, with no idea of what was waiting for her below the depths – she hadn't known how terrifying the water could be until that moment.

She hadn't expected such a thing to go unnoticed by Snape, and he didn't disappoint. As they stood at the lowest floor of the spectators' stands, with the other three Champions and their mentors standing by, he leaned close and practically snarled into her ear.

"I suggest you get a grip on yourself, Miss King," he said. "The Bulgarian is looking for a lead on first place and Miss Delacour will undoubtedly contest you for it. Now is not the time for _nerves_."

She couldn't help but to ask, "What do you think is down there, sir?"

"The Merpeople won't offer you much trouble unless you give them reason to. The Giant Squid couldn't care less about the goings-on of Hogwarts students, not until you interrupt its business, at which time, it would be in your best interest to use an Ascending Charm as quickly as possible. As for the Grindylows—"

He was interrupted by Professor Dumbledore, whose voice was amplified by a simple charm. "Good afternoon and welcome to the Second Task," he announced above the cheering of the Bulgarians. "Last night, something was stolen from each of our Champions. A treasure of sorts. These four treasures, one for each Champion, now lie on the bottom of the Black Lake. In order to win, each Champion need only find their treasure and return to the surface..."

Snape's hand suddenly wrapped around her wrist and pushed her hand towards her face. "Start chewing, Miss King."

With a grimace, Jasmine shoved the Gillyweed into her mouth and quickly swallowed. It slipped down her throat like slime. It tasted like piss, nothing like Gillywater. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from blowing chunks into the Black Lake.

Vaguely, she could hear Dumbledore explain that each Champion would be followed around by a monitoring device, so the crowd would be able to see what was going on beneath the water.

"You may begin at the sound of the cannon," he said, followed immediately by the loud firing of said instrument.

Jasmine was the first to leap into the lake, but as soon as she touched the water, the skin on her neck began burning with excruciating pain. She clawed but soon found that her hands were burning too, as well as her feet. So, she sank deeper and deeper into the lake, trying not to thrash around too much for the sake of the monitoring device that hovered nearby.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fleur and Viktor swim away. Harry had cast the Bubble-Head Charm on himself and was trailing after the other two as well, but he kept throwing glances over his shoulder. Jasmine glared at his back, betrayed. But she stopped when the pain ebbed into an unfamiliar throbbing.

She glanced down and was shocked to find that webbing had grown between her fingers and toes, not unlike the webbing owned by the Merpeople. She drew a sharp gasp and it was only then that she realized she'd been breathing all along. Underwater.

The Gillyweed had worked.

Unable to help herself, she threw a sharp glance at the monitoring device, knowing that Snape was watching, and muttered, "Thanks for the warning." Then, she hurried in the direction that the others had gone.

The extra webbing helped more than she could say; without it, she doubted she would have been able to finish the Task in time. She stared down at the gloom sitting beneath her, gathered her courage, and dove deeper into the depths.

She thought that the Black Lake would have been beautiful, under different circumstances. Not one surface wasn't covered with moss or some sort of coral. The fish swimming about, however, gradually became uglier and meaner looking the deeper she went. In the distance and higher above, she caught sight of the Giant Squid.

After what might have been a few minutes – or longer; Jasmine could no longer tell – a forest of kelp appeared from the gloom. She saw the slight figure of Fleur Delacour enter the forest and scowled in both concern and disapproval. That was a quick ticket to being attacked by Grindylows if she'd ever seen one.

Carefully, Jasmine traversed above the kelp forest, making sure to keep an eye out for the little water demons. She was close to the bottom of the lake, too close for there not to be any Grindylow nests nearby, hiding in plain sight. She reached down and pulled her wand out of the holster tied around her leg; at the same moment she felt the water suddenly shift.

Something hurtled past. She was positive that it was a Mermaid. It had bumped against her as it passed, and Jasmine was thrown backwards. Her shoulder collided with something and she felt a single pinprick of pain. Single, but sharp. A yelp escaped her and she reflexively reached for the origin of pain. Her webbed fingers caught on something and she gingerly pulled it out of her shoulder, wincing as she did so.

It was a rather long, blood red needle. Jasmine turned around and found a little ball embedded against the rock wall, with similar needles bulging out of it. She paled.

 _Pinnsean_. Jasmine only knew of the term because of Potions class, where Pinnsean Poison was an important ingredient in Draught of Living Death. If brewed correctly with the draught, its killing effects were terminated, but if injected directly into the bloodstream... There would be only an hour before the victim's heart stopped beating.

There was an antidote, of course, but it waited for her on the surface.

"Shit," she snapped, tossing the needle aside and hurrying after the twice-damned Mermaid. Several minutes had already been deducted from the hour that they'd been given. She could worry about the poison at a later time.

The Mermaid had disappeared from her peripheral, but Jasmine had come to trust her ears more than her eyes. In the distance, she could hear the beautiful noises of the Merpeople. They were singing, the very same melody that had come from the golden egg when opened underwater. Jasmine followed the sounds as best as she could.

She soon found herself within the Merpeople's domain. Rocks and kelp gave way for dilapidated ruins of something that once had been beautiful. In the center of it all were three figures, tied by their ankles to the lake bed: Ron Weasley, Daphne Greengrass, and a young girl who looked suspiciously like Fleur Delacour.

Jasmine couldn't help but to smirk at Daphne. "Idiot," she muttered as she got to undoing the knot on the girl's ankle. "A treasure, indeed."

Someone had already been previously untied. Jasmine deduced that Krum had arrived first, because he held no attachments towards any of the three left behind. As she finished freeing Daphne of her bonds, she threw a concerned glance over to who must have been Fleur's sister. The French woman should have arrived by now... unless, perhaps, the Grindylows had gotten to her first.

The Merpeople in the vicinity released sharp hisses; their wailings increased.

Alarmed, Jasmine brought her wand up and whirled around, only to find that it was Potter. He headed straight for Weasley.

Jasmine had just begun considering whether to wait for him or not when he took notice of the last hostage as well. He looked inquiringly at Jasmine.

"Fleur?" he said; his speech was slightly garbled through the Bubble-Head Charm.

"Grindylows," she replied. "I don't think she's coming."

He pulled his wand out and pointed it at the bonds of the other Delacour sister. Before any incantation could leave his lips, a Mermaid swam up to him and threateningly placed her trident underneath his jaw, hissing. "Only one."

When Harry spoke, he was looking at Jasmine. "Past an hour, the prospect's black," he said. "Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

Jasmine caught onto what he was suggesting and firmly shook her head. "Dumbledore wouldn't allow that."

"People have died in the Tournament remember? Who's to say it was just the Champions?"

There was an urgency to his tone that Jasmine didn't like. A blinking red dot had showed up on both of their monitoring devices, notifying them that their hour was almost up. Similarly, Jasmine had begun to lose feeling in her left arm; the poison was spreading.

"Jasmine!" Harry yelled. The Mermaid had left him alone but it was clear that he wasn't going to abandon Fleur's sister. "Help me!"

"You're gonna get us both killed, you know that, Potter?" she snapped. Nevertheless, she muttered a spell that severed the rope on Delacour's ankle and she quickly grabbed the girl's elbow, dragging Daphne Greengrass alongside her. "Come on then!"

Harry trailed behind her. From the wailing and shrieks coming from below, it was obvious that the Merpeople didn't appreciate Jasmine's little maneuver. Oddly, none of them gave chase.

The foundations of the spectators' stands came into view.

Jasmine could barely feel her left arm anymore. She had to keep checking that the Delacour girl was still latched onto her elbow. By that time, the effects of the Gillyweed were starting to retract as well. In a moment of panic, Jasmine pushed Daphne away from her and muttered, " _Ascendio_."

Daphne rocketed towards the surface. Harry placed the same charm on Ron, and just as Jasmine had done the same to Fleur's sister, she felt something grab her foot and give it a sharp tug. Upon throwing a terrified glance downward she found that the Merpeople had unleashed an entire nest of Grindylows on them.

They fought for a firm hold on her feet as she kicked and thrashed. Some swam up and scratched at her face, her neck, her arms. One was able nick the place where the Pinnsean Poison had been injected into her body, and Jasmine cried out. Despite the previous numbness, that one scratch sent waves of pain down her arm. The gills receded from the skin on her neck and all too quickly her lungs were burning. It was an odd sort of agony.

Amidst the chaos, she could see Harry struggling to get his wand up. When he finally did, a sudden burst of yellow light erupted. The Grindylows fell away from them, momentarily stunned and unmoving.

Harry found it all too easy to continue swimming up to the surface. His Bubble-Head Charm was still intact. He had no idea about the problem which Jasmine faced; she was short on breath, she wasn't too good of a swimmer, and she had lost all feeling from the waist up.

She had never hated Harry so much than at that moment. He probably thought that she was swimming right behind him, right as rain.

Manually catching up was out of the question; so was spell casting. She couldn't raise her wand and move her lips even if she tried. Although...

Wandless and non-verbal magic.

It was nigh impossible. Even Snape, even Dumbledore couldn't do it. But it was the only thing she could think to do. The Grindylows would return with more, perhaps they'd even bring a battalion of Merpeople. Jasmine didn't want to die alone in the dark, underwater, with her monitoring device blinking wildly in front of her.

 _Eternal glory,_ she thought, closing her eyes.

The next thing she knew, Snape was glaring down at her with fiery eyes. Feeling very slowly returned to her face and she became aware that her head was resting on his lap, and that his fingers were gripping her chin.

"Foolish girl," he hissed. "Last place. You nearly died – _died_ – for _last place_! What kind of idiocy entered your dunderhead brain to help Potter free a hostage that was not yours to save?!"

Jasmine couldn't blame him for being angry. If anything, she was thankful for it. It allowed her to return to her senses more quickly, and it fueled the rage that was all but flowing through her veins.

Past Snape's snarling face, she could make out the concerned faces of Fleur Delacour and her sister. Krum was celebrating with his mates. After a minute, Harry approached her, wrapped in two thick towels with his goons following behind him.

"Jasmine," he said, voice thin from the cold. "Jasmine, I didn't know—"

"Some excuse that is," she snapped; for a moment, even she was surprised by the venom in her voice. However, she quickly recovered. "I am _never_ helping you again, Potter. Find someone else who'll die for you, because I won't."

That was all she managed to say before Snape pulled her to her feet and towards a boat.

.

.

Snape had her in detention for a whole month after her little stunt in the Black Lake. Although, as far as detentions went, they were never so bad – but in that month, Jasmine was able to realize many things.

Firstly, the judges had reconsidered her position in the Champions' ranks. After due deliberation (more than was really necessary, in her opinion), they agreed that she deserved to tie with Harry in second place. She had also put her life on the line, after all. Their decision never doused her anger; why had they even needed to discuss it? Hadn't they seen enough evidence from the monitoring device?

Second was that the Third Task was going to be a maze of sorts. There was no other reason for Hagrid and Professor Sprout to collaborate on growing hedges on the Quidditch Pitch.

Third, Barty Crouch had been murdered the night following the Second Task, on Hogwarts grounds.

Fourthly, Professor Severus Snape was well and truly a former Death Eater. She had always been sure of the fact, but her ruminations were only further founded when she caught a glimpse of the mark on his forearm – only a small part of it, but she had seen it enough times on her father to know what it was she'd been looking at – which brought her to her final conclusion:

Something bad was about to happen. Not just in a personal manner, like how one was going to be betrayed by a close friend, but in a school-wide manner, perhaps even stretching out to the whole Wizarding World, perhaps even life or death.

Jasmine had come to realize this because of the little things.

Now and again, she would see Harry Potter out of the corner of her eye. Since that day in the Black Lake, she had never spoken to or approached him. In the few instances when their eyes met, it was always by accident; just like it was by accident that Jasmine had seen him grimace while rubbing the lightning scar on his forehead. She had seen him doing so a total of six times.

It couldn't have been a coincidence that Snape's Dark Mark was bothering him more and more. Of course, he never explicitly said so, but Jasmine had known him for seven years and he had never scratched, not even _fiddled_ , with his Mark as much as he did then. Karkaroff was looking more and more animated as the weeks passed, too.

When April was reaching its end, Jasmine was even more distressed to find that the seventh years' NEWTs had been rescheduled to an earlier date due to the Triwizard Tournament. She hadn't been the only one to increase their degree of cramming that week.

Snape was merciless. Not only did he refuse to let up on handing out essays, but he also gave her additional research work that, unsurprisingly, had little to do with Potions.

"Magical capability and intelligence," he had said. "The Tournament has already extracted as much of those from you as it possibly can. The only thing left to test is your courage. I assume you've seen the maze that Hagrid is tending on the Quidditch Pitch?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I suggest you start reviewing Defense Against the Dark Arts, everything from first year to NEWT level... perhaps those even higher than that."

Suffice it to say, even the conclusion of NEWTs wasn't enough to save her weary soul. While the rest of the seventh years lazed about and waited for the Third Task to unfold, Jasmine was being drilled by Snape on all there was to know about Moody's subject – dark creatures and what spells she could use to either slay the beast or defend herself. Sometimes, there was no Defense to be said; sometimes all he drilled her on was the Dark Arts, what it was and how to perform it.

"That maze is not all it seems to be, Miss King," he explained after a particularly grueling session. "You will need everything in your power to escape from it alive... and do believe me when I say _everything_."

If she wasn't so exhausted, she'd be flattered. The only reason he put up with her – the reason he put up with anyone, really – was because, in one way or another, he cared. He certainly had a bollocks way of showing it, something she was sure he had practiced, but he wouldn't have put so much effort into preparing her for the final Task if he wasn't concerned.

Whether he was concerned for _her_ safety or the honor of Slytherin House was entirely up for speculation. Even she wasn't foolish enough to deny that.

The night before the Third Task, Jasmine barely ate anything at all. While the Great Hall was filled with murmurs of anticipation for what could lay within the maze, she was filled with an entirely different kind of dread – nervousness, fear, and only the slightest bit of excitement; the Tournament was coming to a close, and she wanted to win, however she was not the only one. Krum, in particular, had been throwing her death glares ever since the end of the Second Task. She was all too happy to return them.

Seeing as none of her friends were any close to finishing with their food, Jasmine excused herself and exited the Great Hall. Outside, she was able to take a deep breath of the cool night air. Her hands were shaking again. She decided to take a walk, going anywhere except for outside. She didn't think she could bear to catch another glimpse of the maze without going mad.

Oddly enough, she soon discovered that her feet were carrying her back to the dungeons, past the Slytherin common room and towards the Potions classroom. She slowly came to a stop in front of the door; despite the fact that he always finished sooner than the other teachers, Snape was probably still in the Great Hall.

As such, Jasmine turned and made for the common room, when the sound of approaching footsteps stopped her in her tracks.

"Miss King," said Snape, halting in front of her and looking her over curiously. "What brings you here at this hour?"

"I don't..." She trailed off, thinking better of what she'd been about to say. _I don't know._ He wouldn't have liked that reason, but apparently she no longer needed to give him one.

His eyes flickered downwards, undoubtedly taking notice of her trembling hands, and he said, "Come."

She followed him into his office. He told her to take a seat and disappeared into his storeroom. When he returned, he handed her a small vial filled with a turquoise blue liquid. She had seen it many times in the hospital wing, sitting in a basket in the corner, free for anyone to take.

"Drink," Snape ordered.

She did as she was told, downing the Calming Draught in one gulp. Immediately a cold sensation travelled into her veins, calming her tense muscles and soothing her frayed nerves. Her hands stopped shaking.

"Thank you, sir."

"I suggest you do not drink any such concoctions before undergoing the final Task. It may quiet your nerves but it will also dull your senses, something that will without a doubt lead to your untimely death."

Jasmine nodded, fingering the mouth of the vial and waiting for him to take a seat before speaking again. "Professor, I was hoping that we could use the Room of Requirement tonight. I need more practice."

He sighed. "No, Miss King, what you need is to rest. A full night's sleep."

"Surely you know that would be impossible, professor—"

He shot up from his seat and disappeared into his storeroom again. Upon his return, he all but slammed another two vials onto the desk in front of her. "Take these as well then," he growled.

Jasmine pursed her lips but otherwise pocketed the two vials; Sleeping Draught and Dreamless Sleep, most likely. Snape sat down once more, gathering his robes about him and crossing his arms, obviously unhappy with her arguing.

"Is there anything else, Miss King? I'm sure you already know this but I'm quite a busy man. The rest of the school may be preparing for the break but the teachers, as always, are—"

"Is it wrong of me to be scared, professor?"

Her eyes widened. She hadn't meant to interrupt him; the words had sort of just slipped out. Thankfully, however, he didn't seem angry. He just regarded her with the same curiosity that had been in his eyes when he intercepted her in the corridor.

"No," he finally said, after a long moment of tense silence. "I dare say I expected nothing less even from you, who have surprised and impressed most of Hogwarts... including me." The corner of his lip twitched. "It has probably escaped your common knowledge but fear is important. However unpopular of an opinion, it is the truth. Fear is a sign of common sense; it will keep you from doing anything too rash, like running straight to your death. Only complete dunderheads are not afraid of anything and you, Miss King, are not a complete dunderhead."

She bit back a laugh; that was the closest he had ever gotten to complimenting her.

"Fear only ever becomes a weakness the moment you allow it to define your actions. It will grant an entirely different perspective of things, I admit, but it will keep you alert – yet when the time comes that you find your feet stuck to the ground because of this... emotion—" His eyes glittered dangerously. "That is when you should be truly afraid, Miss King."

A minute passed with him staring at the top of her head, and her in deep thought, absorbing his words. Despite herself, she smiled. "Thank you, professor," she said. "I really needed that."

He hummed. "You can thank me once you're out of the maze in one piece. For now, go to your dormitory and stay there. If I find you out of bed past curfew, I will not hesitate to take points, never mind that you're a new school favorite."

So it was back to the usual terseness. Jasmine probably shouldn't have expected the civility to last any longer than it did; the day that happened would be the day the world stopped spinning.

Muttering a good night, she stood and took her leave.

.

.

Of all the things Jasmine had come to expect to happen that day, the arrival of her father was certainly not one of them.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" she hissed as soon as he approached.

He flashed his yellow teeth. "What, and stay home while my daughter makes history? I think that would make me a rather horrible dad, wouldn't it?"

"It might have escaped your notice but you're _already_ a horrible father."

"Now now," he said, his eyes flashing with barely concealed anger. "Watch your mouth, Jazzie. You should be happy I came all the way here just to watch you."

"I would rather you hadn't. Truly. I'd do better without you."

He growled, baring his teeth like an animal, but Jasmine knew that he couldn't make any hostile moves towards her. They may have been underneath the spectators' stands, but they were far from being alone. Krum, Fleur, and Harry were there alongside their respective mentors, as well as Dumbledore.

Smiling curtly, she told him to go to the stands and stay there. "You'd be doing me a favor," she had said. And she watched him walk away, relieved that Snape was yet to come around. She didn't want to deal with the awkwardness that would most likely ensue should he be seen by her father.

Yet, it seemed she had spoken too soon.

She heard his familiar drawl before she saw him: "How touching."

With a sigh, Jasmine turned and found him leaning against the stands. He'd probably been there for a while, meaning he had probably seen the whole exchange between her and her father.

"I didn't know he was coming," she said – a poor explanation, but anything else she was about to say would have been drowned out by the crowd, who had begun cheering again, duly accompanied by the Hogwarts band. Their noises were deafening.

At the front of the tunnel, Dumbledore gestured for the Champions to make their entrance. Jasmine opted to lag behind, jumping around and pulling her knees up to her chest as she did before the First Task to get her blood pumping. Any embarrassment she may have felt from Snape watching her was easily shadowed by the momentousness of what she was walking into.

It was the Final Task. Win or lose; gain eternal glory or have her name obscured by whoever would beat her.

She really wanted to win.

If the noise was loud from beneath the stands, then it was positively deafening outside. Jasmine didn't try to drown it out; in fact, she focused on it, along with Snape's grip on her shoulder. Dumbledore stepped up to the podium, calling for silence, and the Champions faced the crowd. Snape abruptly squeezed her shoulder; Jasmine fixed a cool expression onto her face and raised her chin. In the crowd, she caught a glimpse of her father and the mad gleam in his eyes. She pointedly looked away.

"Earlier today, Professor Moody placed the Triwizard Cup deep within the maze," Dumbledore announced. "Only he knows its exact position. Now, as Mister Krum is currently in first place, he will be the first to enter the maze – followed by Mister Potter and Miss King, who are tied for second, and then Miss Delacour. The first person to touch the Cup will be the winner!"

It was a miracle that even his Sonorous Charm was still intact amidst the overwhelming roars of the crowd.

"I've instructed the staff to patrol the perimeter, for at any point should a contestant wish to withdraw from the Task, he or she need only send out red sparks with their wands... Contestants!" he suddenly barked. "Gather around."

The noise of the crowd quieted down. Jasmine was forced to leave Snape behind as Dumbledore gestured for her to hurry up. She sidled between Fleur and Harry, aware that her hands had already begun shaking.

"In the maze, you'll find no dragons or creatures of the deep. Instead, you'll face something even more challenging." Dumbledore leveled them with a heavy look. "People _change_ in the maze, you see. Oh, find the Cup if you can, but be very wary, as you could just lose yourselves along the way... Champions, prepare yourselves!"

A hand came down on Jasmine's shoulder, warm and familiar. Snape whisked her away to her designated entry spot into the maze. "Remember what I said," he muttered. "Good luck, Miss King."

He gave her shoulder one last squeeze before he too was gone. Jasmine spun around, wildly trying to catch his eye again, but then the cannon sounded and Krum, without hesitation, stepped into the maze. The hedges closed behind him but the crowd could still watch his progress because of his floating monitoring device.

Dumbledore stated that she and Harry should wait a minute before following. Jasmine felt as though she was about to step into yet another slaughterhouse.

When their sixty seconds was up, it was time to die. Jasmine took a deep breath, perhaps the last calm one she would ever take within the next hour or so, and walked forward.

She felt her claustrophobia kicking in as soon as the hedge closed behind her. The roars of the crowd and the noise of the band disappeared in one quick second. Ahead of her lay a dirt path. She could not see anything past ten feet; the fog was so thick. Her monitoring device hovered by the side of her head, but even with its presence, Jasmine had never felt so alone.

An image flashed across her mind's eye, an image of Snape berating her for not having her wand up. Immediately she drew her wand from her pocket, and she found some reprieve in the feel of it between her fingers. Here was her companion of seven years; at least she wasn't completely alone.

She cast the Four-Point Spell that Snape had told her about. Taking another deep breath, she forged onward.

.

.

It soon became evident that the Four-Point wasn't going to be much help. Either she had cast it wrong (she truly doubted this) or there was some serious magic that had been placed on the maze, but for some reason it kept on leading her to one dead-end after another. She removed the spell if only to stop the incessant vibrating of her wand.

After that, she did her best to find her own way.

It had never escaped her mind to keep heading north – or at least, _her_ north, when she had first stepped into the maze. The Cup would be in the very center.

Soon, it had become a game of sorts for her to keep track of time. The sun was nowhere to be seen. She couldn't tell whether she'd been in the maze for an hour, or maybe it had even been just a few minutes.

She had been reduced to talking to her monitoring device as well, knowing that the crowd could hear every word, could see her every move.

"How long have I been in here?" she muttered, glancing inquiringly at the device. "I reckon it's been... three days? Give or take? I'm not hungry though, which I guess I should be grateful for. And—"

She heard a twig snap. Her ear had just twitched when suddenly, the corner she was about to turn began rattling violently. The two hedges merged, blocking her path and very nearly trapping her in the process. Strong gusts of wind began blowing from all directions. Another twig snapped, this time behind her, and Jasmine wasted no more time.

She took off running in the other direction.

The hedges were closing in on her. Her claustrophobia was at its worst. It became a conscious effort to keep breathing, to keep her feet moving. She noticed that the path she was on stretched endlessly, and... Something in her mind clicked.

As soon as she caught sight of a corner, she dived to the side. She scrambled to her feet just in case her intuition had been wrong, but apparently it hadn't been. The closing of the hedges continued down her previous path, stopping her from continuing in that direction. _At least I'm safe,_ she thought.

A few hundred paces later, she was proven very, very wrong.

"Fuck!" she swore, panting heavily as she was chased by an entire nest of Acromantulas. She had all but fallen into their domain. She could still feel them crawling on her skin.

Jasmine glanced over her shoulder and saw them barely two paces away from her. Their mandibles clicked and called for her blood. In a desperate maneuver, she sharply turned a corner, pointed her wand over her shoulder, and cried, " _Incendio_!"

The flames managed to kill a decent amount, but it wasn't the spiders she'd been aiming for. Behind her, the hedges of the maze caught fire, and after a few seconds, began shaking tremendously. Soon Jasmine was no longer running from spiders, but from the maze once more.

After finding yet another narrow alley to go through, she was offered a while of reprieve. She kept walking – "Never stop moving," she muttered in remembrance of what Snape had said – but she struggled to recall what her objective had been.

Something large, something golden... Eternal glory... _The Triwizard Cup._

"North," she said to herself.

She had just taken a left turn when she heard the unmistakable, shrill sound of a woman's scream.

It took her a moment to process, but her body was already moving in the direction of it. It had been so long since she'd heard the sound of another person; she had nearly forgotten that she hadn't been sent into the maze alone. She wasn't the only girl Champion. Then, she realized all the horrible things that could have elicited such a noise from... _Fleur._ Yes, that was her name.

But it soon became obvious that she would never find her way to the woman. It was impossible enough to find the Cup, yet Jasmine managed to once more wrap her head around the fact that _that_ was her objective. Find the Cup. Fleur would have to get by on her own.

.

.

She had encountered a Blast-Ended Skrewt and yet another nest of Acromantulas before something clicked in her head once more. _Snape..._ He had said something about a clue, a clue to navigating the maze. Jasmine desperately struggled to remember.

His familiar drawl echoed in her mind: "The maze will keep you from reaching your goal. The more difficult it becomes—"

"The closer you are," she breathed. As she rounded a corner, she gazed wondrously at the monitoring device. For a moment, a smile lit up her face. "How the bloody hell are you still even working? I don't—OW!"

She had flashbacks of the Second Task, of the numbness that spread across her body, the feeling of hopelessness. Her finger grazed the back of her neck and she felt something stuck there. She pulled it away from her skin and brought it up to her eye.

A Nacheil Wasp. Its venom wasn't deadly, for which she was thankful, but it was known to cause hallucinations that often only lasted for an hour. Jasmine mused that she finally had a way of telling the time.

When she raised her head, she found Sybill Trelawney standing a few ways away, dressed in her usual odd clothes. She had a crystal ball in her hands.

"Oh bugger," Jasmine muttered. She knew the hallucinations would only get worse; she needed something to remind her of what was real and what wasn't...

Reluctantly, she pointed her wand at her left hand and muttered a Cutting Curse. The skin of her palm immediately sliced open. Blood gushed from the wound. The pain was sharp and stinging. However, when she raised her head, Trelawney had disappeared.

Jasmine tore a portion of her sweater and used it to bandage the cut. It would stem the bleeding but kept the wound in easy reach, should she ever need reminding again.

And she needed reminding several times after that.

Many faces appeared to her, all of whom should never have been in the maze in the first place, and were therefore easy to distinguish between real or not. Fred and George Weasley, Astoria Greengrass, Albus Dumbledore – even a phone booth had managed to slither into her imagination.

Once, she turned to look at the monitoring device and instead found a floating glass ornament in the shape of a serpent. She had pocketed it, thinking that Professor Snape would appreciate a paper weight.

Minutes later, when she'd come to realize that the ornament was a hallucination, she still kept the device in her pocket. It was becoming distracting, and the crowd could still hear her anyway.

At one point in time, she even saw her mother staring at her from down the dirt path. She was just as beautiful as Jasmine remembered.

Jasmine gave her left hand a little squeeze. Her mother remained; she was steadily approaching. Again, Jasmine squeezed her hand, a bit harder. The apparition did not go away.

"Mum?" Her voice wavered. She couldn't really be there, could she?

"Hey Jazzie. What're you running away for? Come on, come with me. Let's go skating, huh?"

"There's no ice..."

Her mother smiled brightly. "We'll _make_ ice."

Jasmine had been reduced to digging her nails into the cut. Blood was streaming steadily down her hand by then, dripping to the ground, and the pain was almost unbearable – yet her mother remained.

Jasmine released a breath of comprehension.

Quickly, she raised her wand and pointed it at her mother. " _Riddikulus_ ," she muttered.

Her mother's crisp clothes turned into an ugly slip of a thing, with rainbow frills and red stockings. Jasmine somehow managed to force out a laugh, and the Boggart disappeared.

She encountered many more of the beasts. Just as she thought that she wasn't getting any closer to the Cup, a sudden chill permeated the air. Her heart dropped into her stomach and a sense of hopelessness came over her. A sob escaped her throat.

Two Dementors came at her from over the hedge. Jasmine stared at their cloaks of darkness and thought, _This is it. This is the moment I die._

And just as quickly, the image of her mentor cropped up. There was a snarl on his face. "No, it is not."

Jasmine thought back on her childhood years, all the minutes she could remember being with her mother. That time they went skating on the frozen lake. That time Jasmine had first learned to ride a bicycle. That day her mother gave her the letter from Hogwarts.

" _Expecto Patronum_!"

A silver panther shot out from the tip of her wand. It reared its head and yowled noiselessly, clawing at the Dementors and daring them to come closer. Jasmine darted off in the other direction. The air shifted, and judging from the sounds of billowing cloaks, she could safely assume that a fair number of Dementors were in pursuit of her.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she figured that she was closer to the Cup than she'd previously thought.

In a similar maneuver that she'd used against the Acromantulas, Jasmine first cast a Patronus Charm – the strongest she could conjure – before setting the hedges ablaze. The maze got angry, as she'd expected. She took two left turns to put her back on track. She was as alert as ever.

A few dozen paces later and she caught sight of it. The Triwizard Cup. Her escape from the hellhole she had found herself in. Initially she had bolted towards it, but then the hedges closed off and she was forced to reroute. What awaited her in the next turn was... well, she had no idea what to make of it.

"Professor Snape?"

He looked exactly as he was when she seen him last, before entering the maze. The same frock coat, the same teachers' robes, and even the very same scowl on his face. He had his wand out, too, and she voiced the first presumption that entered her brain.

"Is the Tournament over? Has someone won?"

He didn't answer. He merely kept walking towards her. She saw his wand twitch. On instinct, her fingers curled inwards and pressed down on the cut on her palm.

And approaching her was not Severus Snape, but the Bulgarian Viktor Krum.

A single word escaped his lips. " _Crucio_!"

Jasmine crumpled to the ground, a writhing mess of blood and dirt and tears. Her skin was being peeled off of her limbs; her bones were being crushed underfoot; her nerve ends were on fire. Cries of agony were torn from her mouth, and soon she tasted blood.

She knew not how long it lasted. Some part of her thought it was just another hallucination, but how could a figment of her imagination feel so real?

The answer came a lifetime later. It had been real because Krum had stopped – rather, he had been forced to. Upon opening her eyes, Jasmine saw that Harry Potter had arrived. He was, at the moment, dueling with Krum. A well-timed Stunning Spell from the Golden Boy ended the duel and then he was looming over her, green eyes alight with concern.

"We can't stay here," he said. "Can you stand?"

She opened her mouth to answer but found it painful to speak. Slowly, she reacquainted herself with her body and, after much deliberation, accepted Harry's helping hand. He pulled her to her feet and she saw Krum lying on the dirt a few feet away.

Anger burned in her chest at the sight of him, helpless. She made to raise her wand, a curse already on the tip of her tongue, when Harry stopped her.

"Don't! He was bewitched!"

"Who the fuck would do that?" she snapped, ignoring the sharp pain in her throat. "It couldn't have been you. You saved me. It certainly wasn't _Fleur_."

He looked suspicious. "How do you know it wasn't Fleur?"

"I heard her scream. She's probably been taken out of this hellhole by now."

At that same moment, a faint ringing noise echoed down the path. Jasmine turned her head just in time to see the farthest hedge start to tremble, parting to reveal the Cup glowing in the darkness.

She broke into a sprint.

She could tell Harry was close behind her. His footsteps were loud and heavy. Then, the next moment he was gone, replaced by a closing hedge that she had barely escaped. She was so close to the Cup; she could taste her victory, her salvation—

Harry broke into the clearing first. His eyes were on the Cup but as he was reaching for it, he hissed and clapped a hand over his forehead. He pulled his arm back.

Jasmine never stopped running. Her heart felt like it was about to break out of her chest, her muscles cramped from the Cruciatus, but she never stopped. As she was about to break through the narrow gap of the hedges, her foot caught on something and she tumbled to the ground.

Her ears were still ringing. The Cup called for her.

"Something's wrong with it!" Harry cried. "Don't touch it!"

"I'm not a bloody fool, Potter," said Jasmine. "If you aren't taking it, I will."

She reached for the Cup. Harry was still yelling, "Jasmine, don't!" But his hand came into contact with the smooth, cool gold the same millisecond that hers did.

There was a sharp tug in her gut and then the vague sensation of being dragged across the atmosphere – then, falling.

The Cup flew out of her hands. When her spine hit the ground, the air leaving her lungs in one swift whoosh, Jasmine had expected to hear the deafening roars of the crowd. She had expected to see Fleur and Krum standing in the sidelines, having been pulled out of the maze before the Cup could be retrieved. She had expected to see her House, Slytherin, flood the clearing and lift her onto their shoulders, not realizing that she had arrived with Harry. But most of all, she had expected Snape to be there before any of them, gazing down at her with those fiery black eyes of his with little to no emotion on his face, and she would be the only one to catch the flicker of pride – brief but true – for _her_.

None of these things came to be.

As she struggled to regain her senses, she became very aware of the silence that filled the air – thick and cold. Grunting, she sat up and took in the surroundings.

Harry seemed to have landed just as hard as she had, though he was already pulling himself to his feet. The two of them were in a graveyard of sorts. The sky was dark enough for it to have been midnight; the Third Task had begun on 4 in the afternoon. Finally outside of the maze, Jasmine's sense of time gradually returned. She frowned. Had they really been gone for 8 hours?

Another realization dawned on her right after.

"This isn't Hogwarts."

"No," Harry agreed. "I know this place though. I've been here before... in my dreams."

"Dumbledore didn't mention anything about a graveyard. He said get through the maze and find the Cup, that's all, and then we'd be taken back to Hogwarts. This is _not_ Hogwarts."

Jasmine saw that Harry had put some distance between them and she hastily scrambled to her feet. Her body was trembling with fatigue mixed with adrenaline. She watched as Harry approached one of the gravestones, erected beside a statue of the Grim Reaper.

Suddenly his head whipped towards her. There was a look of terror on his face. "Jasmine, we have to get back to the Cup."

The Cup? "Why?"

"It's a Portkey. That's how we got here. Where is it? Find it! Quickly!"

Jasmine never had the chance. Just as she made to look around, she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye, heard a door creak open. In a small shack that sat a few ways away, the lights flickered on and a man stepped out. Short and pudgy with thinning hair and a face resembling that of a mouse—

Harry began screaming. His hand flew to his forehead, to his scar.

Jasmine was only vaguely aware of him yelling at her to get back to the Portkey. Otherwise, her body had become numb from shock as she stared at the pudgy man. He was approaching, and in his arms was a bundle of cloth wrapped around a small body – it might have been a child, but Jasmine saw the white face peeking out. Deathly pale skin stretched taut over a sharp skull, housing eyes that, even then, blazed red with hellfire.

"Wormtail." The name tasted odd on her tongue; she hadn't said since her childhood, when her father was still audacious enough to invite fellow Death Eaters to their house. "What are you doing here? What's going on?"

A thin, raspy voice registered to her ears, but it had not come from Wormtail. It occurred to her that the figure within the bundle – it, _him_ – had spoken, though she was not able to comprehend the words.

"She is an ally, my Lord," Pettigrew said in reply. "She is the daughter of John King."

Several more hissed words, and for a brief moment it was as though Pettigrew was about to raise his wand against her, but he did not. Instead, she heard the cloaked figure speak again. His words were clear, this time, and spoken to her: "You will kneel."

All those years of living under her father's shadow came rushing back. The times when he would bring over throngs and throngs of Dark wizards and she would be forced to speak with them – "To make a good impression," her father had said – she remembered how her mother would pull her away to a secluded corner and spoke to her, quietly, as if they were sharing a secret.

"I need you to go to that place again, love. I know, I'm sorry, but you know dad doesn't like it when we interfere with his... plans. Just act for me, alright? We'll be other people for just a few minutes and then we can pretend like nothing ever happened."

Jasmine had gone to 'that place' more times than she could count, and not necessarily when her father was being an ass. During her stay at Hogwarts, she had been forced to be someone else many times over; to get away with something, to ensure Slytherin House of her allegiance, or even to keep from snapping at Professor Snape.

And standing before a Death Eater, having been stolen away from the safety of Hogwarts, Jasmine knew that the time had come again for her to become someone else. She slipped into her facade easily enough, the same moment she dropped to her knees and lowered her gaze. The picture of submission.

Pettigrew, meanwhile, had trapped Harry within the arms of the Grim Reaper. The figure encased in cloth hissed a command, and Pettigrew dumped it into a cauldron filled with a vile grey liquid. The fire beneath sprang to life. Wormtail turned towards Harry.

"Bone of the father unwillingly given," he said, raising his wand. A single bone floated up from the gravestone that Harry was hanging over. It caught fire on its descent into the cauldron.

"Flesh of the servant... willingly sacrificed."

Jasmine flinched upon hearing the blood-curdling scream of Wormtail as he sliced off his own hand. The appendage fell into the cauldron. The sound of metal cutting through joint was still fresh in her ears.

"Blood of the enemy forcibly taken."

She could only watch as Wormtail procured a second knife from his coat's pocket and turned it onto Harry. He pulled the blade down Harry's wrist. Jasmine could have sworn that she felt a new sting in the cut on her palm. Wormtail let Harry's blood drip from the edge of the knife, into the cauldron.

One, two, three drops.

"The Dark Lord shall rise again."

The liquid within the cauldron started bubbling before it completely caught on fire. Pettigrew hastened away and Jasmine felt a surge of fear. Had she been mistaken in thinking that he would let her live? Or if she were to die, that he would die with her?

The flames from the cauldron disappeared, revealing a slimy, gray mass. It began as a sphere, and then the limbs protruded. A spine, a head. The body was thin and curled in on itself, like a fetus. A thick cloud of black closed in on the mass, and for several moments Jasmine could see nothing but the abandoned graveyard before her.

And then the darkness solidified, and it had become a swirling robe of shadows, stretching down to the ground, wrapped around a thin, pale figure.

His head was bald. His face resembled that of a snake's and his eyes, impossibly, seemed to be icy blue and terrifyingly red at the same time. His footsteps were light as he walked forward; he stopped and looked down, almost as if he couldn't quite believe that he could walk again. Wormtail was in awe, and at that moment Jasmine knew.

Before her stood the bearer of the name she had heard said too many times in her childhood – said in awe and fear, apprehension, but never respect. Here stood the reason her parents could never have continued on as they did. Here stood the reason her mother had been killed.

Voldemort.

He went to Pettigrew first and demanded for his wand. When his fingers wrapped around it, he laughed. The sound, though quiet, was so horrible and frightening that Jasmine knew it didn't belong in her world. Despite her facade, she wasn't able to help the whimper that escaped her throat.

 _He_ heard it.

Apparently he hadn't expected anyone else to be there. He turned and his snake eyes landed on Jasmine, and a shudder ran down her spine at the barely concealed animosity within his gaze. She played it off as astonishment, wonder; she quickly leaned forward, placed her head and her hands on the dirt in an act of utter submission.

"You may rise, child," he said. She complied with his order immediately. "Wormtail says that you are the daughter of John, yet your name, I have regrettably forgotten."

"Jasmine King, my Lord." Her voice trembled.

"A beautiful name..."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Yes, I remember now." A wicked smile crept up his lips and Jasmine resisted the urge to look away. "Your mother was quite beautiful as well. Tell me, Jasmine, has she remained faithful to me?"

She pursed her lips. "My mother has since passed away, my Lord. But in the early years of my childhood, I had only heard her sing praises of your name, of your great power."

He murmured something that suspiciously sounded like "pity" before raising his voice again. "And your father?"

"Very much the same, my Lord, if not more fierce in his devotion. He always believed that you would return, and groomed me in accordance so that I may please you, by his side."

He hummed noncommittally. "We shall see." He held his hand out to the side and curled his fingers, and in a moment Wormtail was there. "Hold out your arm," said Voldemort.

"Master, thank you... Master—"

"The other arm, Wormtail!"

Shock and disappointment flitted across Pettigrew's features before ultimately settling on resignation. He offered his left arm and Voldemort pulled his sleeve up, revealing the Dark Mark. Jasmine was too far to see any more, but Voldemort placed his wand tip on the ink.

Storm clouds gathered, darker and thicker than Jasmine had ever seen. They morphed into the all too familiar shape of a skull, and from the mouth streamed forth jets of billowing black smoke. Seven figures solidified on the ground surrounding the Dark Lord. Their faces were covered with masks but Jasmine could hazard a guess as to who had come to answer the Master's call.

"Thirteen years it has been," said Voldemort. "And yet here you stand before me, as though it were only yesterday. I confess myself... disappointed. Not one of you tried to find me."

With the sudden agility fitting that of a snake, he revealed the faces of his followers one by one. Crabbe, Macnair, Goyle, Nott, Avery – when he unmasked John King, Jasmine relished in the cry of pain that escaped her father. She had thought Voldemort would bide time with him, but he turned a blind eye and switched his attention to the final masked Death Eater.

"Not even you... Lucius."

Malfoy gasped as the mask was whisked away from him. "My Lord... Had I detected any sign, a whisper of your whereabouts—"

"There were signs, my slippery friend, and more than whispers."

"I assure you, my Lord, I have _never_ renounced the old ways."

Malfoy removed his headwear and got to his feet. Jasmine was stunned at his audacity; however her attention was soon dragged away when Harry renewed his efforts against the stone holding him captive.

Behind her facade, Jasmine registered just how perilous of a situation they were in. Voldemort had risen and his followers were with him, and within the same environment was The Boy Who Lived. In one way or another, Harry Potter was vital to the ultimate destruction of the Dark Lord. Her heart sped up but she hid her fear behind carefully constructed masks of neutrality.

She glanced Harry's way once more and his eyes flickered to the right.

She followed his gaze and there was their salvation. The Cup. The Portkey. It sat several feet away but it was not impossible to retrieve. With her hands behind her back, Jasmine was just about to slip her wand into her palm when Voldemort turned his attention onto her father.

"And you, John." He clicked his tongue. "Thirteen years ago I could have called you one of my favorites – only one of many, but apart nonetheless. Now, however, I find your performance... lacking. Even you did not come for me. I was almost persuaded by your daughter, she so does have a way with words... but her loyalty is misplaced."

He glided over to her and Jasmine had to force herself to stay still.

"From now on, you rest your faith on me." His voice was sickly sweet as his clawed finger touched her chin, tilting her head upwards so she was forced to meet his gaze. Immediately she emptied her mind. He smiled at her again. "Do you understand, Jasmine?"

"Yes, my Lord. My faith lies in you and only you." Thinking quickly, Jasmine knelt and brought the hem of his robes to her lips, kissing it.

He chuckled. "You have bred me a fine follower, John... Perhaps she should have the honor of killing you."

Her blood chilled. She despised her father, more than she could possibly say, but to kill him… under _Voldemort's_ orders... The act would make her no better than he.

"Relax, John King. I will not have her kill you... yet." The Dark Lord gestured to her. "Raise your wand."

She had no choice. To the side, she saw Harry begin his struggle anew.

"You know the spell, Jasmine," said Voldemort. "Prove your worth to me. Prove your obedience. Make him suffer."

Jasmine steeled her stomach for something else entirely. " _Crucio_." When she spoke, her voice was thin, trembling, not enough to force the dark magic out of her.

"A pitiful attempt." The Dark Lord pursed his lips. "No matter, no matter. You will learn... _Crucio_!"

For the second time that day, Jasmine crumbled to the ground. Viktor's spell was nothing compared to the torture she experienced by You-Know-Who's wand. It was only to be expected. He had been casting the spell long before she was even born.

When he was finished, he stooped low and hissed, " _That_ is what I expect you to show me. Do you understand now, girl?"

"Yes, my Lord." Her voice was hoarse from screaming.

"John, it seems you overlooked a rather important lesson, although now it has saved you your dignity." This was met with a few low chuckles from the other Death Eaters. Jasmine gingerly got to her feet as her father just smiled thinly. "We will resume with your punishment another time. As for this moment, it seems I've forgotten to address perhaps the foremost reason we are all here... Harry."

In the millisecond that it took for him to switch his attention from her to the struggling boy, Jasmine gave her wand the tiniest flick. It was a miracle she still kept her wits about her. It was also a miracle that no one but her noticed the Disillusionment Charm slipping over the Triwizard Cup, diminishing its glow. She thought for sure that the Dark Lord would see her treachery, but he had eyes only for Potter.

She only half listened to their exchange. The majority of her concentration was dragging the Cup towards her, slowly and carefully. Too much movement would disrupt the landscape and therefore prove the charm useless.

She had to bring it into her hand at the perfect time, where she would be able to make a lunge for Harry – any part of him, as long as they were in contact.

She couldn't leave without him.

"Are you alright?"

Jasmine startled, very nearly dropping her wand. Standing beside her, where he had not been for many, many years, was her father. He had spoken to her but his eyes were on the Dark Lord.

"What do you care?" she muttered.

Voldemort had freed Harry from the Grim Reaper statue and was ordering him to pick up his wand, demanding for a duel.

"You may be a pain in my arse but you are my blood, Jazzie," John hissed. "You weren't supposed to get this far. Moody said—"

" _Moody_?"

"Under Polyjuice. He's been spying for us a while now. Who knew Crouch's son would ever prove useful?" He shook his head. "Only the Potter boy was supposed to be here tonight. I never thought..."

"You never thought that I would win. Easy to understand since you know nothing about me."

"I know that you wouldn't have been able to perform an Unforgivable. You still can't."

She scowled but said nothing in reply.

The Cup was only four or five feet away by then. Voldemort had taken to torturing Harry with the Cruciatus after he had been bold enough to try to disarm him. Harry's screams rang in her ears. Jasmine wondered whether she'd sounded any worse.

"I know I didn't raise you to be a Death Eater, Jazzie," said her father. "I know that was all an act, as perfect as I've ever seen. It was your mother who taught you well."

"Yes, she did." Jasmine squeezed her wand and met his gaze. "And if you felt any ounce of love for her, for what she believed in, then you won't stop me from what I'm about to do."

His eyes narrowed. "He'll kill you."

" _Don't_ stop me."

He opened his mouth for another retort but it never left his lips. In front of them, Harry and Voldemort had begun their duel, but it was nothing Jasmine had ever seen before. Harry's wand issued forth a jet of red, Voldemort's green, and they met in midair. The point of intersection was explosive, nearly blinding, and a sense of momentousness washed over Jasmine.

"Don't stop me," she repeated to her father.

He said nothing, but she was able to discern the faintest nod of his head.

Gold and silver wisps had erupted from the dueling and enveloped the clearing, creating a dome of sorts – and then they formed humanoid figures. An old man, and a man and a woman who issued themselves at either side of Harry. The man spoke to him, spoke of a moment that could be lent in order for him to escape. Only a moment.

Jasmine's fingers twitched.

"Let go," said the woman. "Let go... Let go!"

Harry broke the spell. The wisps flew away from him and towards Voldemort.

" _Accio_!" Jasmine screamed, rushing forward with her arm stretched out. She felt Harry's fingers wrap around her wrist just a millisecond before the Portkey flew into her hand, smacking against her wand and her palm.

They were being dragged across the air again. And there was pain, more so than Jasmine had anticipated.

When they stopped spinning and had returned to solid ground, she barely felt it. Her leg felt like it was on fire. Everything else that happened before her eyes were sluggish, they made no sense.

The crowd was silent as the grave. The Portkey was wrenched out of her hand. She could hear Harry calling her name, yelling, "What's wrong with her?"

"Splinched."

"She hasn't been splinched, Severus. Her grip on the Portkey was firm."

A few beats of silence, save for the sounds of misery that fell from her lips. There was a murmured spell, "Finite Incantatem," and the agony disappeared as if it had never been there at all. Jasmine gasped for breath.

"What was it?"

"Someone must have fired a spell as the Portkey was leaving. It hit her leg just before they disappeared. The remnants of it had remained, but no longer."

Their voices started registering to her brain. Their faces, looming above her. Dumbledore, Professor Snape, with Harry, Granger and Weasley to the side – then they were being pushed away, replaced by a sour-faced man. He began touching her all over. She had half a mind to slap his hand away but she felt too weak to even lift a finger.

He dug into her pocket and a cry left his lips. Jasmine's eyes darted downwards to see what he'd found.

There, sitting on his palm, was her monitoring device.

It had been on her all along. She had forgotten about it, about how she had stuffed it into her pocket during one of her hallucinations. It had been there all along, which meant...

"Do you have any idea what you've just done, Jasmine?" It was Dumbledore who spoke. The sour-faced man had left, with her monitoring device, and the Headmaster was staring down at her with something akin to awe. His eyes glistened. "You've given us paramount information. You've perhaps just prevented a full-scale war."

Jasmine had never thought so badly of him until that moment.

"I don't care," she hissed. There must have been something in her voice, or her eyes, because then he retreated from her as though he'd been slapped. "I don't care what I've just bloody done, you pathetic, _pathetic_ excuse for a—" She seethed. "Don't you... Don't you understand?"

Her voice broke it seemed that he did understand, because he disappeared from her line of sight entirely. Another man stepped in, one she knew all too well. She saw his face and felt relief... but nothing more. Not the joy she had expected to feel bursting from within her chest, no pride. Just relief that he was there and that he could take her away.

"Can you stand, Miss King?"

She offered no other reply than gingerly getting her feet beneath her. Her muscles screamed in protest, particularly her leg, but even in her state she refused to be levitated away from the scene. As she walked, her knees very nearly crumpled, but Snape was there, holding her aloft albeit reluctantly.

The journey back to the castle was a blur. Jasmine's thoughts often reverted to the scene in the graveyard, to Voldemort's return – but more frequently, she recalled the horrors of the maze. She could still feel the chill on her skin, hear the Acromantulas scuttling behind her, see her mother' face...

She clenched her left hand.

"Stop that at once," Snape hissed. "It's in bad enough shape as it is."

The pain was familiar. She wasn't aware that she'd done it before, in his presence. It was all too surreal. A part of her suspected that at any moment she would be back at that graveyard, surrounded by Death Eaters, helpless and submissive.

She hadn't noticed that they had arrived in his office until he forced her to sit on the chair by his desk, her usual seat. He dropped into a stool in front of her and drew his wand. She flinched, she must have, because his features softened a bit, something she had never seen before.

"I will run a few diagnostic tests on you now, Miss King," he said. "Just so I can see the extent of your injuries. Stay still."

Jasmine was aware of his wand emitting a pale blue light; it ran across her body, following the movements of his arm.

"Why didn't you bring me to the hospital wing instead?" she inquired softly, staring at a spot just past his face. He wouldn't look at her either way.

"I was under the impression that you would prefer... familiar company. It will be difficult to trust others again, I can only assume, after what you went through tonight."

His words confused her for only a few seconds. Upon realizing the suggestion in his words, her eyes widened. "Professor Moody—"

"He has been apprehended. No need to worry yourself," he muttered. "And his name is not Professor Moody. It is Barty Crouch Jr."

Upon saying this, he did look at her – expectantly, as if he were searching for an emotion that did not appear on her face. She couldn't bring herself to feel shocked by that point, just understanding. She had known that Barty Crouch had had a Death Eater for a son, but not that he had apparently escaped Azkaban.

She merely blinked at Snape and he returned to his ministrations.

Several minutes later, he had managed to close the gash on her palm and heal all other wounds – though magic could only go so far. She would have scars, many of them. From the way he treated her as he worked, almost as if she were made of glass, she knew that the physical scars would be the least of her worries.

However, there was peace in the silence. Jasmine could not bring herself to close her eyes, but she stared across the room nonetheless, unseeing and lost in her thoughts. She managed to sift through the memories, managed to temporarily lock away the images that she could do without. But the silence, it seemed, was not meant to last.

Snape had just handed her another one of his tiny vials, explaining that the liquid would help with the after-effects of the Cruciatus. She had never been more aware of her quivering muscles, or the bruises that would most likely appear in the morning.

She stared down at the vial, wondering at her trust in the man that sat before her. It was then that he spoke: "You've given us an immeasurable advantage against the Dark Lord, Miss King."

Something inside her snapped.

"I DON'T CARE!" Her voice ricocheted against the walls. She relished the fact that she had made him flinch. "You... You _vile_ , son of a... You did this to me!"

Comprehension dawned on his features. He shook his head. "It was not I who tortured you in the maze, Jasmine. You know this as well as I."

"You didn't torture me. You _sent_ me there." Tears began to leak from her eyes. The blurry form of her Potions professor drew closer, hands outstretched, and she recoiled. "You knew! You knew what was going to happen. You knew where that Cup would take us and you sent me anyway! You left me to die!"

"Cease your petty accusations, you insolent girl," he hissed. "Why would I have known? How could I have known?"

"You're like my father. You're one of _them_."

"Your father was one of the few, the _very_ few, who were made aware of the Dark Lord's whereabouts. I was not part of that few, Miss King. I know where my loyalties lie, now more so than ever." He sneered. "Do you?"

She leaned forward so that her face was only inches from his, practically snapping her teeth in frustration. "I will _never_ be one of them. _Never_."

The ferocity in his eyes left as quickly as it came. Gently, almost affectionately, he cupped her jaw and tapped his thumb on her cheek. "Drop the act now, Miss King," he said. "You are safe."

She was horrified to discover that her shoulders were shaking with sobs. Her terror, her desperation, her confusion – they all came forward at that moment, reducing her to an incoherent mess.

Vaguely, as if seeing through another's eyes, she watched as Snape disappeared into his storeroom and returned with a vial of turquoise blue liquid. He tipped the contents past her lips and her mind cleared, almost numbed.

Loose-lipped from the potion with a name she had forgotten, she pushed her cheek further into his open palm and, in little more than a whisper, she said, "Don't betray me."

One final sob escaped her; then her movements ceased. She felt the barest hint of breath, the softest, briefest touch of lips on her forehead, before at long last, she allowed herself to slip into unconsciousness.

* * *

 _What happens next is entirely up to you, because yes that is the ending. i have to stop. oh god why did i even start this._

 _update, 6/6/2018 : this oneshot now has a sequel standing in as Chapter 2 lmao i am so full of shit_


	2. Tired Are Your Splendid Soldiers

**_A/N: Title is from the song "Fall Into Me" by Alev Lenz._**

* * *

The Triwizard Tournament was the beginning of the end. Jasmine was forced to spend an entire week in the Hospital Wing under the care of Madam Pomfrey. All her external wounds were stitched up and healed within the first 48 hours; Jasmine knew that the only reason the Mediwitch still fussed over her was to make sure her sanity was intact.

Professor Snape visited frequently to bring her updates from Dumbledore, always in the dead of night. Jasmine assumed that it was because he didn't want students assuming that his soul wasn't as black as they thought it was, but it wasn't until the week was up that she found out the truth.

"A double agent, I believe, is the term you're looking for, Miss King," said Snape, sneering all the while. "I was such during the Dark Lord's first rise to power and remain so to this day. Should anyone but the Headmaster come to presume that I continue to care for you despite your betrayal of the Death Eaters, my position within the Dark Lord's ranks would be compromised."

Jasmine struggled to understand his words, fighting against the effects of the Essence of Rue that Pomfrey had made her drink just a few minutes before. "They – the Death Eaters, I mean… they don't know that you helped me through the Tournament?"

"It's common knowledge that I was your mentor. _Think_ , girl." He growled in impatience. "They know I aided you during the Tournament, but for them to find out that I am still doing so, even with the Hogwarts Mediwitch at your disposal, would be another matter entirely. It would imply genuine… _concern_."

Jasmine blinked. "Why are you telling me this?"

His blurred form slowly came into focus until she was able to see clearly the frown of unease that marred his face. "I was summoned by _him_ today. He is furious at your treachery, although unfortunately not enough for him to be making rash decisions any time soon."

Jasmine felt a cold stone settle in the pit of her stomach. If it wasn't for the Essence of Rue, she was sure she'd be vomiting her dinner by then.

"In other news," Snape continued, "the Aurors finished replaying the events recorded by your monitoring device from the maze just yesterday. The Minister plans on forming an army, and he wants you and Potter on the front lines."

"Me?" She suddenly felt like burrowing under the blankets and never coming out. "Why me?"

"It seems they've dubbed you the dark horse of the war. The daughter of a Death Eater, fighting for the side of the Light." He sneered. "You and Potter will be on the front page of the Prophet for weeks if Fudge has any say about it."

"I don't want to be on the Prophet." Jasmine shook her head. "My life has been a living hell ever since I got my name picked from that thrice damned goblet. I just want it to end."

"It will, Miss King." Snape leaned back and regarded her grimly. "This war will end one way or another. If the Dark Lord is still alive by the end of it, pray that you're dead before he finds you."

.

.

Meetings were scheduled. Plans were made – but the Ministry, for all their talk of wanting to include their two youngest, newest heroes in the fight, never bothered to invite Harry or Jasmine to any of the assemblies. The both of them would have been left completely in the dark if Dumbledore didn't relay everything of import to Snape who, in turn, relayed everything to Jasmine.

Molly Weasley thought Harry was entirely too young to be fighting in a war. Jasmine didn't care much for her judgment; she told Harry everything he needed to know and then some, whenever the two of them were left alone in Grimmauld. That was how she learned about his nightmares.

"It's always the same, more or less," Harry said. "There's a long hallway. It's dark. And then I see… flashes of things."

"What things?"

"A mask." He shuddered and Jasmine knew what he was pertaining to: a Death Eater's mask. "A snake. And an orb, sort of like the crystal balls we use for Divination, but whole rows of it. They just… sit there."

"You can't possibly be dreaming about the Department of Mysteries."

"The people who work there – the Unspeakables – they do research about time and death and stuff, don't they?"

Jasmine nodded.

"And prophecies, too?"

"… What are you getting at, Harry?"

"Snape mentioned that Voldemort was looking for something. A weapon. Something he didn't have before that might help him win now. I think…" Harry took a shaky breath. "I think it's at the Department of Mysteries. And I think it has something to do with me."

He wouldn't meet her eyes and Jasmine frowned. Harry didn't seem like a vain person. In the four years that she'd known him, he'd never once given her the impression that he enjoyed his fame. His parents had been killed to gain him such a reputation, after all. So why was he betting so much on his nightmares?

It hit her like a knife in the gut.

"It's Voldemort, isn't it?" she muttered. "You think he's causing your nightmares."

Harry nodded grimly; his lips were almost as ashen as his skin and he looked as though he was going to topple over any second. "Ever since that night at the graveyard when _he_ touched my scar, I've felt as though he's never left, you know? Like he's beside me or looking over my shoulder or… or inside me. Inside my veins."

"Pettigrew used your blood to complete the ritual. That may be why you feel connected to Voldemort somehow."

"Do you think I'm right? About the dreams. About what he wants."

Jasmine pursed her lips. "The Department of Mysteries is one of the most heavily guarded chambers in the Ministry. If Voldemort wants something from there, he won't just be able to walk in and take it. He'll need a plan of attack, and planning takes time. All we can do now is wait and trust Snape to tell us when Voldemort plans to infiltrate the Ministry."

"What if the dreams get worse?"

"Tell Dumbledore."

"No!"

Jasmine reared back, startled at the sudden look of panic on his face.

"I just mean that—" Harry stared pleadingly at her. "He'll have to tell the Minister, and then they'll think I'm some kind of spy, and then…"

"You tell _me_ then. We'll…" Jasmine sighed. "We'll work it out."

"Swear you won't tell anyone."

"I swear."

.

.

Jasmine was asleep when the Department of Mysteries was raided. She only found out about it in the morning. Remus Lupin sat in the kitchen, his head in his hands and a bottle of whiskey on the table. Hermione Granger lay sprawled on the couch in the living room, naked save for jeans and the bandages wrapped around her midsection.

And in a wingback chair in the corner sat Severus Snape. It looked as though he hadn't slept a wink.

"Sirius Black is dead."

Jasmine didn't have to tell him anything. She knew that he knew about Harry's dreams – he'd found out the same time Dumbledore did when Harry told them that Mr. Weasley was being attacked by a giant snake at the Ministry of Magic. She knew that Snape had been giving Harry Occlumency lessons, but it hadn't prepared them for this.

They were at war and Jasmine was in the middle of everything, alongside Harry Potter. The crushing weight of such a realization left her sagging against the nearest wall.

"You didn't like Sirius," she muttered. "I know you didn't."

Snape gazed at her from across the room, impassive, and said nothing.

"Harry. Where is he?"

"At Hogwarts with the Headmaster."

That was good. That meant his friends were with him and they wouldn't allow him to drown in guilt and self-pity. The same couldn't be said for Jasmine. She had nothing to do around the house and she couldn't leave without being accompanied by at least one member of the Order, which was rare because every one of them had jobs to do. Except for Sirius, because he'd been wanted by the Ministry, but now…

"Harry told me about the DA," she blurted out, "about teaching others how to fight. I need that too."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, you scored exceptionally high in your Defense NEWTs."

"No, I mean dueling. Real dueling. I want to be as good as you." She forced herself to meet his eyes. "I want you to teach me."

He did not answer immediately. For a long time, he just stared at her. Jasmine thought he was going to laugh at the request and deny her outright, but then he sneered.

"In the break," he said. "For now, Lupin will have to suffice."

Jasmine didn't argue. She knew Snape merely planned on using her to distract Lupin from his grief, but as the werewolf's soft sobbing drifted in from the next room over, she couldn't bring herself to mind. They'd already lost one important member of the Order; they couldn't afford to lose another.

.

.

Both Dumbledore and Snape had warned her numerous times that many witches and wizards were still devoted to the Dark Lord, even after so many years, and not all of them were Death Eaters.

"Voldemort's loyalists," the Headmaster had said, "can be any one of the people walking down the street. Man, woman, or child."

Jasmine had scoffed at him then, thinking his advice was merely the ramblings of an old man.

That was why, as she was walking down Diagon Alley in the dark of the night, her hands full with bags of new clothes for herself, she thought nothing of the couple strolling down the road towards her. Jasmine's gaze lingered for a moment on their hands, fingers entwined, before she politely looked away. Her mother had taught her manners, after all.

It wasn't until the couple had walked past her that she fully sensed danger: the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her nose registered the scent that had been all but seared into her brain by Snape's rigorous tutoring.

Polyjuice Potion.

Jasmine dropped her bags and dove to the side a split second before the green light of a Killing Curse illuminated the alleyway. It missed her by inches. She whipped her wand out and Snape's voice reverberated in her skull: _"Wordless, Miss King, or not at all."_

She spun, silently releasing a rapid fire of Curses in the direction of her attackers. She could see that she'd caught them by surprise. But it wouldn't be long before they gathered their wits and remembered she was easy prey.

With blood rushing in her ears, Jasmine aimed her wand at the ground before their feet and yelled, " _Confringo!"_

A sound not unlike the firing of a cannon rang across the street. Dirt and cobblestone burst into the air and Jasmine hastily conjured Grimmauld Place into mind. Red light shot out from behind the cloud of dust just as she Disapparated from the scene.

She knew something was wrong the moment her feet touched the pavement in front of 12 Grimmauld. Her shoulder was burning, as though a flat iron was being pressed down on the skin there. Her legs gave way and she was soon writhing in pain, scraping her knees in her desperation to crawl towards the entrance. If she could only get to the front door, to the doorbell—

A fresh wave of agony seared her from within, impossibly stronger. She muffled her scream against the inside of her elbow.

There was the distinct crack of Apparition. Jasmine squeezed her wand and made to turn, though she had no idea how she was going to survive a duel. Not with hellfire bearing down on her neck, her shoulder, her arm—

Hands grabbed her around the waist and hauled her to her feet, all but dragged her to the sidewalk and up the front porch.

"You fool," Snape hissed once they were past Walburga Black's portrait, steadily making their way to the kitchen. "You could have been killed!"

Jasmine opened her mouth to defend herself, but the words got caught in her throat as more fire seeped into her veins. She did scream, then, and old Walburga began screeching from the front hallway. Scowling, Snape slashed his wand across the air. The door behind them slammed shut, effectively muffling the cries of the Black portrait.

Some other unknown emotion flashed across his face before he collected himself, setting her down gently on the tattered grey sofa in the living room and crouching low beside her.

"Your shirt must be removed, Miss King."

She gritted her teeth. "I c-can't…"

He tapped his wand on the neckline of her blouse and Jasmine suddenly felt very cold. It contrasted painfully with the heat in her right shoulder. She watched through bleary eyes as Snape leaned forward, gazing with intense scrutiny at the bared skin of her shoulder and arm. He muttered something under his breath. Jasmine groaned as she felt the skin on the inside of her elbow being cut open. Snape placed his wand there and whispered unintelligibly.

It was slow, agonizing work, but by the end of it, Jasmine felt blissfully cool and at the same time, indescribably tired. She imagined she didn't look too different from the man crouched beside her.

"Thank you," she said, grimacing once she felt the damage she'd done to her throat. "How… How did you find me?"

He turned and slipped his legs out from underneath him, sitting on the floor and placing his weight against the front of the sofa, just by her stomach. " _Protego vigilate,_ " he said. "A particularly useful spell which, once placed on someone, can alert the caster of deadly spells being cast in the immediate vicinity of whom which the _Protego_ was placed on."

Jasmine sagged into the cushions. "Oh."

"Indeed." He sneered. "Dumbledore had me cast it on you as he did for Potter the night of your induction into the Order. A good thing, as I understand that the two of you seem to be incapable of staying out of trouble."

She winced at the acid in his voice. "Sorry, Professor Snape. I only wanted to—"

"Severus, Miss King." He grunted, running his hand across his face. "I've seen you without a shirt on, you might as well call me Severus."

"Severus… I used the money you gave me to buy clothes. I dropped them when I was attacked. They're probably soaked in mud by now." She pursed her lips. "Sorry."

The corners of his mouth curled slightly, though not enough to be considered a smile. "Impertinent girl." He said it with a hint of affection that made her chest hurt – a comfortable hurt, so different from the curse that had been swimming in her veins just moments ago.

She could see in his eyes that she was in for a world of hell once she was back on her feet, but before that, she would take any rare morsel of warmth that he was willing to give.

.

.

"This is rubbish," Snape grumbled. "We should be talking about battle strategies, not partying like a bunch of randy fourth years."

"Oh loosen up, Severus!" Kingsley handed him a glass of firewhiskey. "We've planned and planned and planned. I think it's enough, don't you?"

"It's never enough in my experience."

"The Death Eaters know nothing and Voldemort is none the wiser. And Harry…" They spied the dark-haired boy mingling with his friends, his hand wrapped around Ginny Weasley's. A new development, if Molly's glassy eyes were anything to go by. Kingsley softly cleared his throat. "Harry knows what needs to happen. He's ready."

Ginny threw her head back and laughed at something Fred had said. Harry stood back, looked at her with such love and adoration. Jasmine felt her throat closing up with emotion as she watched them and she knew that they had to bring Harry back. At all costs. He deserved to be happy.

She downed the remaining firewhiskey in her glass and grimaced at the burn. _Damned if I don't deserve to be happy either._

"I do hope you plan on slowing down, Miss King," Snape drawled. "Unless you want to fight Death Eaters while sporting a hangover?"

"That's why we have enough potions for an entire city, Severus." Jasmine poured herself another glass. "Remember when you had to give me a Calming Draught before the third task? Well, this certainly beats that. Tastes better."

"Works a hell of a lot quicker, too."

She smirked.

Before the night was through, they had managed to empty the cellar of anything Sirius could have hidden there, and made what was thoroughly a mess in the living room. A Silencing Charm had been thrown over Walburga Black sometime during the evening and Fred and George were having a field day with the portrait. Jasmine, somehow, had ended up with her head pillowed on Severus' lap. Everyone was just as surprised as she was that Snape hadn't hexed her yet.

The couples, meanwhile, had cleared out before midnight. Remus and Tonks retreated to their room in the fourth floor while Ron and Hermione all but disappeared. When Jasmine blearily inquired where they'd run off, Mad-Eye, evidently the only Order member apart from Snape who was still sober, glared down his nose at her and shook his head.

"Chances are half of us'll die tomorrow," he grumbled. "Leave them be."

He retired for the night not long after. Jasmine waited for his rhythmic, thumping footsteps to fade as he got farther up the staircase before she risked a glance at Snape. Without thinking, she stretched her arm out and pressed her thumb between his eyebrows. He whipped his head back.

" _What_ in Merlin's name—"

"You think too much! You're always like…" She jumped into a sitting position and immediately felt bile rise up her throat. Snape moved to guide her head away from the carpet. "No! Look, _look_. I've been working on it and – and you're always like – like this…"

She scrunched up her face, gathering her sleeves around her and crossing her arms like he used to whenever he walked up and down the room during Potions class. She tried to scowl, but the impossibility of it sent her into a fit of giggles. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I think you've had quite enough, Miss King. You should retire."

"Alright." She pouted. "Help me to my room?"

He hissed out a weary breath but otherwise helped her to her feet. With his arm around her waist, he supported her up the stairs to the third floor and past the door before promptly throwing her onto the bed. Jasmine bounced for a few moments and Snape placed a vial of red liquid onto the night stand. He watched her try to get her bearings; she watched him watch her.

He knelt onto the mattress beside her and began unlacing her shoes.

It was when he was pulling off her socks that she spoke.

"I'm not that drunk, you know," she said, more to the ceiling than to him. "I'm just pretending that I am so I have an excuse to act stupid. I can never act stupid. Not even when I was child."

Even in near complete darkness, Jasmine still somehow managed to see Snape's imperiously raised eyebrow. "The fact that you're telling me that, in and of itself, proves that you are very much drunk."

"Do I have to be drunk to be honest with you?"

"I certainly hope not. Otherwise your liver would be long gone and you'd never be able to string up coherent sentences."

She sighed. Loudly. "Do _you_ have to be drunk to be honest with _me_ then?"

"No." He tossed her socks into the laundry basket in the corner of the room before regarding her with wary eyes. "I try to be honest with you as much as I can, considering my delicate position in this war."

"But you _have_ lied to me before."

"I have, although more often than not it's by omission and I never truly considered that to be lying."

"Why?"

"Why don't I consider it to be lying?"

"Why do you keep things from me?"

"To protect you."

"I can take care of myself."

He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Things spoken are more difficult to hide."

"Is that why you never call me Jasmine?" she said, and his hands stilled from where they'd been about to draw the covers over her body. Jasmine raised her chin. "Are you scared, Snape?"

"No."

"Say it then."

His nostrils flared. For a moment, Jasmine thought he was going to throw her more of his acerbic words and slam the door. But then something shifted in him. His head drooped and he sat, almost _wilted_ onto the bed – sideways, so Jasmine could see that he was staring at her.

" _Jasmine._ " It was more breath than voice, truly. With his shoulders hunched and his hair covering most of his face, Jasmine thought he'd never looked more tired, more vulnerable.

She searched for his arm amidst the blankets, gently guiding him by the wrist until his fingers grazed her neck. She rested her head on his hand, her cheek pressed firmly into his palm.

His mouth parted; he looked so lost. And he did what she'd expected him to. He pulled his hand away and made for the door.

Panic seized her chest. "Wait!"

He paused, though only just. One foot was already in the hall outside.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed. Stay – please." One step was all he needed to leave her in the dark, so she spoke quickly. "I won't make you do anything. I won't touch you, if you don't want me to. But please stay. I just… don't want to be alone."

And it was the truth. Perhaps that was why he didn't leave.

He closed the door behind him, shrouding them in darkness once more. Slowly he unbuttoned his frock coat, removed his boots and his socks, until he was left in nothing but a white dress shirt and trousers. Jasmine watched him approach. He crawled onto the bed, lying sideways above the sheets. He left a good few inches of space between them.

"Tomorrow, I'll have to fight for _him_ ," he said, his voice strangely hoarse. "You know that."

"I know."

"I'll be gone by the time you wake up."

"I know."

He grew quiet and she just watched him. It was rare for Snape to have all his walls down at once, and to be in his presence during such an event… It was more than a privilege; it was a gift.

When Jasmine fell asleep, Snape was holding her hand, playing with her fingers, tracing the lines on her palm. Later, when she was shoved back into wakefulness by a particularly horrid dream, Snape was holding _her_. He was so close she could feel his heartbeat through his chest, a steady thumping against her spine.

Smiling, Jasmine grasped his arm that was curled just beneath her breasts and allowed his breathing to lull her back into sleep.

He was gone by the time Kingsley came in to wake her up.

.

.

The fighting lasted well past midnight the next day. As soon as Harry got to his feet, even after having been hit by Voldemort's Killing Curse, the Death Eaters lost all their heart. They began retreating; the ones who didn't were quickly dealt with by McGonagall and most of the staff. In the noise that ensued, Harry led Voldemort to the courtyard where he dealt the killing blow for all to see.

Things got quiet.

The dead and the injured were carted off to the Great Hall. Jasmine followed behind the throng of weary fighters – students, most of whom she recognized from before she graduated. They were so young.

Jasmine walked past the giant brass doors to see more fallen than there were survivors. Dozens of McGonagall's recruits and more than a quarter of the Order had been killed during the battle. More than half of number they'd started with. Mad-Eye had been right.

Jasmine helped as much as she could. Closing wounds and mending broken bones, but Madam Pomfrey made sure that Jasmine focused on dealing with the people that had been cursed with Dark Magic.

"Severus taught you, after all," Pomfrey had said.

The work kept Jasmine grounded, kept her from assuming the worst. But as soon as the Potion Master's name left Pomfrey's lips, Jasmine felt as though the walls were closing in around her.

Snape had been with the Death Eaters during the battle. Everything had been so dark and spells were flying in from every which direction. To those who weren't part of the Order, anyone who didn't know better – it would have been all too easy to curse him from behind, when he wasn't looking. He would've been defenseless. And anyone could have finished the job.

With her fraying nerves, it took her a while to notice the murmurs that had started up in the Hall. Order members had lined up at the entrance with Kingsley at the head; he seemed to be keeping the students at bay, talking them down from… something. Jasmine was about to walk over there and ask what all the commotion was about, when suddenly a great dark figure swept past Kingsley and through the crowd of gawking students.

His robes were dirty and torn severely at places and there was a bloody gash above his brow, but he was alive. It was as though her thinking of him had summoned him back from the fields of hell.

He stopped right in front of her. Jasmine felt her eyes burning.

"We need to go somewhere more private," she muttered, "or else I'm going to lose it right here in front of everyone and I don't think you'd appreciate that."

Severus surprised her by placing his arm around her shoulders. His cloak was long and wide enough to cover the both of them as he led her out of the Hall and into an abandoned second floor corridor, at which point, he gave her sleeve a firm tug and she could do nothing else but fall into his arms.

Her sob came out muffled and broken against his chest. "Thank god you're alive."

"God had nothing to do with it."

He placed his hand against the back of her head, holding her against him even as her tears soaked through his coat. She felt him trembling and she reared back in surprise, immediately running her eyes across his weathered form.

"What's wrong?" she demanded. "Are you hurt?"

The chuckle that escaped him was rough and quiet. "No worse than you, I imagine."

They tended to each other's wounds. Jasmine ran her fingers along each new patch of skin that was healed by her wand. It was a simple kind of intimacy, and the only one they could afford at the moment. She leaned her head on his shoulder and felt the fatigue wash over her all at once as he played with the fabric of her collar.

"I saw my father tonight," she murmured. In her exhausted state, she felt like he needed to know what she'd done. "He was beating down on one of Professor McGonagall's. I had to kill him."

"You did what you had to. We all did."

Jasmine sighed and curled inwards, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. She felt him shift slightly, and then his lips touched the top of her head. "We're alive," she whispered.

Severus released a long breath, ruffling her hair. "We are."

If he sounded unhappier than she'd thought he would, she said nothing of it.

.

.

Kingsley took the remaining members of the Order and a select few from the DA and stormed the Ministry; a few days later, Scrimgeour, along with any Death Eater who'd thought they could escape custody, had been captured and sent immediately to Azkaban to await trial, and Kingsley was standing as the interim Minister for Magic.

Rebuilding was difficult.

Kingsley sent his best Aurors to hunt down the Death Eaters still on the run. He did not allow Harry Potter to accompany them. Instead, he ordered Harry and the DA to help with the repairing of the castle, where help was indeed sorely needed.

Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Tower were far too damaged to safely house any of the students. Professor Sprout was all too willing to open up the Hufflepuff dormitory. Snape, however, took some convincing and terse words from McGonagall before he allowed anyone other than a Slytherin into the dungeons.

Jasmine thought that sleeping in her own bed would be good for her. It had been her refuge for seven years, after all.

She was wrong.

The nightmares came, as they had even during her time at Grimmauld. Garish scenes of that night at the graveyard with Voldemort looming above her, Harry screaming, green and red lights flashing and the constant fear of impending death. Her mind brought forth what it would have been like if Snape had been there. In her nightmares he was the one to cast the Cruciatus – really him, and not some hallucination. He sneered at her and in the end, Voldemort made her watch as he made Harry squirm.

She'd wake up before Voldemort's Killing Curse could ever reach her, always drenched in sweat and breathing as though she'd run a mile.

It didn't take long for Severus to notice that she wasn't getting any sleep. She knew it wasn't just because of the dark rings under her eyes or the way she walked about the castle like she'd been Imperio'd. Her magic was suffering too; she could barely levitate a stone block for more than a few minutes without feeling nauseated afterwards.

It was less than a week before McGonagall banned her from helping any further with the reconstruction. She sent Jasmine to Madam Pomfrey, who told her what she already knew: "You need to sleep." She was then confined to the Hospital Wing and given Dreamless Sleep during her first three nights there. It helped – immensely – but Pomfrey refused to give her more because of the potion's addictive nature.

The nightmares got worse.

One night she awoke to find Severus leaning over her. His face was all hard edges and shadows, and it was easy for Jasmine to remember the graveyard; to think that, hidden by the sleeve of his voluminous robes, Snape was holding a Death Eater's mask.

She would have screamed, but he had anticipated it and he clamped his hand over her mouth.

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye, trailing down the side of her face and eventually onto his fingertips.

He scowled.

"Poppy shouldn't have kept you here," he said. "She shouldn't have gotten you started on Dreamless Sleep either."

Wide-eyed she stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"Come."

Jasmine followed him because she remembered him saying the same thing the night before the Third Task; after dinner, she'd roamed and roamed and eventually found herself in the dungeons, where Snape came across her.

It all seemed like a lifetime ago.

Severus led her to an unfamiliar corridor in the dungeons. Jasmine was just wondering where he was taking her when he abruptly stopped.

Facing a completely ordinary stretch of wall, he said under his breath, " _Nascentes morimur_ ," and she knew that she only heard him because he allowed her to. The wall slid open to reveal a hidden passageway. Jasmine followed him inside and saw that it expanded into a chamber. There was a desk, a lounging area, a fireplace and rows and rows of books. Severus led her to a door at the far end of the room, opening it to reveal a four-poster bed.

"Lie down," he said.

"But…"

He grabbed her hand and all but dragged her to the bed. He began turning down the covers, glaring at her from under his eyelashes. Sighing, Jasmine crawled onto the mattress and laid her head down. Severus turned away.

She was about to call him back when she realized that he was merely setting his wards back up. It didn't take him two minutes, at which time he promptly removed his coat and boots and slid in next to her. He was warm. His arm shifted on the pillow as he reached for her fingers, about to start playing with them no doubt.

Jasmine quickly grabbed his hand and held it between both of hers. The corners of her lips ticked upwards once she saw the look on his face. She had shocked him.

She closed her eyes before he could rebuke her, and he relaxed again eventually. And they slept.

.

.

"You said you wouldn't do this," Jasmine sobbed. "You said you would _never_ betray me."

"I'm not _betraying_ you, you foolish girl! This is for your own good!"

It'd been one of the rare occasions that Severus fell asleep before she did. Jasmine had opted to stay awake for at least an hour more, basking in the stillness and admiring his features in the moonlight. When he'd begun to whimper and thrash, she'd reached for his face and smoothed her hand over his cheek. His eyes had flown open and his wand was in hand before she could blink, pressed painfully against her jugular.

Once the shock at what he'd done settled over him, Jasmine again tried to reach for him, to comfort him as he'd done many times for her. But he'd pulled away and began pacing.

"I'm not some trembling first year you can scream at and order around, Severus," she muttered, the beginnings of anger stirring in her chest. "I can _bloody well_ take care of myself and I'm old enough to _bloody well_ know what's good for me."

"I'm making you worse."

"No, you're _helping_ me. I…" She pushed back the lump in her throat. "I need you."

"Don't say that," he snapped.

"It's the truth. And I'm saying it out loud because I want you to know how much you mean to me and – _why won't you look at me?_ "

His back was turned to her, his heavy breathing evident in the way his shoulders rose and fell at a rapid pace. He clenched his fists beside him, tensing, and for a moment Jasmine thought he was going to punch the wall. She understood then.

"It's okay, Severus," she said quietly. "The war… it _fucked_ me up. But you've been through two and I can't begin to imagine what you must be feeling. I know that first it was Voldemort, and then Dumbledore…" She trailed off, taking a shaky breath to quell the sob rising in her throat. "I will understand if you don't want to shackle yourself to me."

He said nothing.

The silence stretched on for so long, Jasmine thought he would just allow her to leave without another word spoken between them.

Then, she heard him heave a great sigh, and he looked at her over his shoulder.

"You misunderstand me," he said, sounding oddly choked up. "I have no desire to abandon you. Our time together has brought me closer to happiness than I ever thought possible. You must know that."

He paused.

"I just cannot bring myself to believe that any of this is real." He turned then, and Jasmine saw the utter anguish in his eyes. The panic. The confusion. "I fear that one moment you will simply be gone, that you will be taken away from me like Lily was. Surely bliss such as the kind you've brought could never be granted to someone like me."

Jasmine approached him – slowly, as she would an injured doe, and made sure to stop at a respectable distance.

"So many of us are gone now, Severus," she said. "People we knew. But you survived and you did _so much_. Don't you think you're owed at least some semblance of happiness?"

He still did not turn fully but she saw his finger twitch. She carefully slipped her hand into his and laid her head between his shoulders. Felt him breathing. Heard his heartbeat.

"I made you promise me," she whispered.

His entire frame trembled as he shuddered. "It's what I want, Jasmine. I will never betray you. I swear it."

"Just as I will never leave you, Severus Snape." She placed a kiss on his clothed shoulder. "For as long as you'll have me."

He finally turned, and the emotion in his gaze carried the weight of which she had never seen before. It was almost staggering.

"Forever," he said.

She had never been able to deny him anything. She knew she never would.

She grinned. "Forever, then."

.

.

The nightmares would come and go for a few years – for the both of them – but he was always there to hold and soothe her when she began thrashing about, as she was for him.

There was no sunrise that saw them apart.

* * *

 _ **"Nascentes morimur."**_

 _ **Latin**_

 _ **Translation: "We are born but to die."**_


End file.
